


Pianos are made for Falling

by Fishwrites



Category: Merlin (TV), Nodame Cantabile
Genre: Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Pianist, Classical Music, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Musicians, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 103,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fishwrites/pseuds/Fishwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is a world class violinist, trapped in Sydney, Australia, by his fear of flying. In the wake of a mediocre concert, vicious critics and with barely a month to go before his next (hopefully reputation-saving) recital, Arthur is almost at breaking point. When his accompanist, Morgana, breaks her wrist in a car accident, Arthur is more or less doomed. And the story begins, when the Maestro at the conservatoire, Gaius Stresemann, recommends his protege Merlin Emrys to step in. Merlin, who plays by ear, as he pleases and really just wants to be a kindergarten teacher.</p><p>Well. The story really starts six months previously when Arthur passes out drunk outside Merlin's shoe-box apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lunchee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunchee/gifts), [Nachte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nachte/gifts).



> This was written for Merlin Big Bang in 2010. The lovely art by Aqualilium can be found [ here](http://community.livejournal.com/cymeteria_arts/23073.html). This is basically the same fic as the one posted on LJ, but cleaned up. Soundtrack etc will be added soon!
> 
> There is a podfic in the works so that, along with ficlets, sequel etc will be posted here as well :) thanks for reading!

fan trailer! :)

 

 

**  
:i:**

_"Don't play what's there, play what's not there."_

  
**-** Miles Davis

 

**:i:**

_Outskirts of Sydney, Australia. 6 months ago._

There was a man sleeping on Merlin's doorstep.

Merlin hefted a heavy bag of confectionary and ginger-nuit biscuits more securely in his arms before crouching down for a better look. His knees protested with a creaky-sound as be crouched down, stiff from the cold late night dash to the groceries. He really just wanted to get back into his flat, back to his little space heater and back to his piano. But this man was in the way.

He looked to be about the same age as Merlin, had hair that glowed gold in the spluttering lamplight. He had pulled his tie low – they were evil things which Merlin had banned from life in general. His top buttons were undone, revealing a stretch of skin. He had a starch white shirt on, which he wore beneath a soft and warm-looking jersey.

The man was half lying on the concrete steps. His back was bent so that his chin rested on his chest and it nodded slightly as he breathed. Despite the faint whiff of the alcohol that probably knocked him out, Merlin thought this man was the third most beautiful thing he had ever seen (the first being his piano and the second being Liszt whom Merlin would marry in an instant had he not been dead and a ladies' man). It wouldn't do to leave him out here.

Merlin poked him carefully with one gloved finger. Well, actually, it was his actual finger doing the poking, as the black wool of his gloves was so worn through they had holes. Even so, the man's cheek was cool to the touch, despite dark overcoat he wore. Merlin poked him some more. No reaction.

Huffing, Merlin put his bag of rations by the doorway and tried to lift the man by hooking both hands beneath his arms, dragging limp legs along the steps. His shoes bumped rhythmically as Merlin heaved him up the hoped there wouldn't be too many bruises as he pulled his cargo along by the shoulders towards the lift on the first floor. Thankfully, the lift was working today, or Aesthetically Pleasing was going to be _very_ unhappy when he woke up.

"You're really heavy, y'know," he said to the unconscious body. Merlin hit the up button for the lift with his fist, putting the man to the ground to retrieve his bag. There was a metallic rattle before the doors of the small lift _dinged_ open and Merlin proceeded to haul the man inside, the candy and biscuits riding on his chest. It was a bit of a mission trying to get the man's (long!) legs to fit inside the small lift before the doors chomped down on them. But Merlin managed with the skill of someone who had been in these situations before and had to save cups of tea from being crushed by falling piano lids.

Merlin pushed the button for the top floor and leant against the wall of the lift with a sigh as it began its rattling journey upwards. A green digital clock above the door told Merlin that it was just a little past midnight. Once the orange flashing numbers finally settled on 12, the doors opened. Merlin grabbed the man by the armpits and proceeded to drag him out into the narrow corridor.

There weren't many apartments in Merlin's block of flats, and there were only two doors on the top floor, one reading 36 and one reading 3. The number 7 had long since fallen off and Merlin was too lazy to bother replacing it. Instead, he had drawn a little quaver note drawn beside the brass "3" in black sharpie. From the other side of the door came a series of high-pitched chirps.

Merlin smiled to himself as he fumbled for the keys in his coat pocket. He stuffed the right one into the keyhole clumsily and turned it back and forth several times before it _clicked_ and the door swung open. Merlin turned back to the man and pulled him inside by one arm, his bag of candy still balanced on his chest. Kicking the door shut behind them, Merlin dragged the heavy body into the middle of the room, where a mattress lay buried beneath a veritable nest of blankets, clothes and stuffed animals.

"It's because I'm nice," said Merlin, a little out of breath from all the dragging, "And you're aesthetically pleasing."

Taking the bag of confectionary, Merlin put it on the table by the bathroom door for safekeeping. He took off the man's coat and shoes, then he arranged him under some blankets. Aesthetically Pleasing didn't wake up. Merlin wondered just how drunk he was and whether he should be doing something like calling 911 and arranging a stomach pump. That made him panic because maybe he _should_ have rung 911, like, ten minutes ago. But then Amazingly Beautiful snuffled in his sleep, and Merlin forgot what he was thinking about.

A few minutes passed before Merlin realised he was simply staring at the man sleeping.

Behind him, Mozart gave a disapproving sort of chirrup. Merlin pulled himself away, standing with a stretch and a yawn.

"I know. I know," he said to the budgie, "That was creepy. But I couldn't very well leave him outside, could I?"

The bird squawked. Beside Mozart, Wolfgang woke up from all the noise, yawned a tiny birdy yawn and pecked Mozart vindictively. More squawking.

"Look what you've done," Merlin scolded, "Now he'll never shut up."

Mozart flapped his wings indignantly, and Merlin sighed. His pets had just as irregular sleeping patterns as their owner, due to his late nights, late mornings and compulsive piano playing. Filling a glass of water from the tap in the bathroom, Merlin methodically downed his daily dose of vitamins. The bottles stared back at him from their row on the bathroom shelf, marked words he couldn't quite pronounce. He was meant to take these in the morning. But Merlin often forgot. He winced at the taste, and set the empty glass by the sink. He closed the bathroom door with a soft _snick,_ and opening a bag of fruit gummy bears, Merlin took the packet with him to the piano. Merlin shifted a pile of papers from the piano stool and sat down with a happy noise, facing the keyboard and open packet of sweets. Glancing over at Aesthetically Pleasing, who was now drooling on Merlin's pillow, Merlin took off his gloves and placed his hands on the keys.

Mozart said something rude in budgie-English.

Merlin began to play.

 

 

 

:i:

 

Arthur woke from a nightmare, wherein he had been abducted and forced to listen to Beethoven being butchered, phrasing and sustained notes chopped into pieces in front of him. Then his father chased him off the stage with a fruit knife, after the disaster that was last night's concert.

…

Arthur sat bolt upright, eyes flying open. The sight that greeted him made him wonder if he was _actually_ awake or trapped in another nightmare. A very messy nightmare.

He had _no idea_ where he was.

For one, Arthur couldn't see the floor. There was… _stuff,_ piled over every inch of space, with a narrow winding path to the front door and to what Arthur presumed was the bathroom. Large, fluffy, multi-coloured animals were arranged along one wall, and Arthur rubbed his eyes with the heel of one hand, trying to focus. _Where was he?_ Arthur wondered just how drunk he had been last night, to wipe out any memory of the girl he obviously went home with. Giving himself a cursory once-over, Arthur noted that all his clothes were still on, his shoes sitting neatly at the end of the…nest he was lying in, and his jacket folded beside his head. He turned around, and came face to face with a white-felt unicorn.

Arthur didn't leap backwards.

His head hurt.

"What in the world…?"

Arthur threw back the blankets (it was colorfully checkered with bears in the squares). Then he scrambled off the springy mattress, pulling on his jacket as he went. Maybe he could leave before the girl came back and things got awkward. Or something. Trying to stuff his feet into his dress shoes, Arthur tripped over something on the floor, failed to find anything to grab onto and landed hard on his backside.

He swore.

Loudly.

Something chattered back at him, and Arthur looked up to see a birdcage near the window. Two brightly coloured birds, one blue and one yellow, were sitting inside it. The blue one puffed out its chest feathers, swung back and forth on its swing in a manic kind of way. Arthur stared. Not only did this girl live in a hovel, she also kept crazy birds. Figures.

"….shu'up, Mozzie," came a drowsy voice and Arthur spun around.

At first, he couldn't see who had spoken, eyes skirting over the pile of laundry over flowing in a basket, a bag of food on a side table and books piled in little forts along the walls. Then what Arthur had thought to be a curtain moved and a shock of dark hair appeared over the edge of – Oh! That's what it was- the piano. And this was definitely _not_ a girl. Blue eyes blinked owlishly above cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, and the first thing Arthur said was:

"Your ears!"

Magnificent Ears rubbed his eyes and yawned so widely Arthur could see all the way to the back of this throat.

"Good morning to you too," he said, pushing his stool back. There was a dark red line on his face where he had fallen asleep on the keyboard, and Arthur could slowly make out the outline of a grand piano, buried beneath all sorts of junk and soft toys and candy wrappers. A bag of half eaten lollies rested on the lid right now.

The budgies chattered animatedly in the background. Arthur edged slowly towards the door.

Magnificent Ears gave him a smile that caught Arthur off guard. It was wide, genuine and a little idiotic and confirmed Arthur's first impression of a mad hermit. A young mad hermit. A young mad hermit who apparently played the piano and whose bed Arthur slept in.

Right.

"Do you need painkillers?" asked Magnificent Ears as he picked his way clumsily across the room, "I've got some aspirin, if you think that would help. You were pretty drunk last night. I think you were drunk anyway… you're not a druggie, are you?"

By the time he had finished talking, Arthur was already gone.

 

 

 

:i:

"…and then he just ran away!" Merlin finished, dropping his face into his hands. Will gave him a sympathetic thump on the shoulder.

"Well," said Merlin's best friend, "You're kinda scary looking when you just wake up. Maybe it was a bit of a shock."

"Thanks," said Merlin, dryly.

"You're not going to start pining are you?" asked Will, narrowing his eyes. At Merlin's forlorn expression, he rolled them.

"No," said Merlin, "I don't _pine._ "

"I think that says otherwise," said Will and pointed at the half-made, Arthur plushie in Merlin's hands. Merlin ignored him and went back to sewing.

_Darling Point, Sydney, Australia. Present day._

Afternoon sun streamed into the studio from the skylights on the ceiling, warm and golden. The studio itself was open and spacious, white walls and lacquered wood floor panels. In one corner of the room stood a polished black piano, a music stand, a shelf sunk into the walls full of music and CDs. There was a coat slung over the back of a chair, and a glass jug of orange juice on side table. The place smelt of rosin and wood.

A framed picture of a woman sitting at a piano, blond and smiling, stood on a glass shelf. It was the only photograph in the room.

Arthur turned the page on his music stand, chewing his bottom lip in frustration. He held his violin and bow in one hand, the other tapping out a complicated rhythm on the edge of the stand. He glared at the offending passage on the page, its semi-quavers and harmonics mocking him with their stems and rough tone. It sounded horrendous; Arthur had the urge to stab something.

There was less than a month until his concert, and he was still wrestling with this. He could recall the words of the critic, see the black type on the white page, taunting him: _without flair…dry…_ and … _technical ability not compensating for the butchering of Brahms._ It made something inside Arthur's gut shrivel with indignation and hurt – though not as much as the expression on his father's face.

The doorbell rang.

Setting his violin down in the open case and loosening the bow, Arthur crossed the room to the door.

"Still practicing I see," said Morgana in greeting as she swept past Arthur into his the studio. Taking off her white-rimmed sunglasses, she tucked them into her pocket and surveyed the room. Her gaze took in the solitary music stand in the middle of the floor, surrounded by music on the floor. (Arthur had tossed them there in irritation.)

"You're late," said Arthur pointedly as Morgana dropped her bag on the piano stool and helped herself to Arthur's orange juice. Ice clinked against the glass merrily, throwing water patterns onto the floor as they caught the sun.

"Looks like I should come back tomorrow," Morgana threw back, "It still sounds like you're slaughtering those F sharps." She poured another glass of juice and set it down atop the piano, which always made Arthur glower.

"You're going to spill that," said Arthur, sulkily. There were going to be water circles on his piano, "And that bit is fine, I'll have you know. There's nothing wrong with it. I'm just…polishing."

Morgana made a non-committal noise, lifting the cover off the keyboard and running a quick scale up and down. The notes bounced off the walls, sparkling like the ice in the jug. Curling and uncurling his fingers, Arthur picked up his violin again and walked over to the piano.

"You know Uther's going to want to listen to this soon," said Morgana as she flipped through the music to the right page. Arthur shrugged, hiding a wince at the very thought.

"Well. He never approves of anything I do. Doesn't like my style."

"No," said Morgana, "You don't _have_ style. You need to relax or you'll never get this part, no matter how many times you call me in to rehearse."

Arthur gaped at her, indignant.

"I do so have a-"

"You play everything like it's a battle, Arthur. You can't even smile whilst playing, or you stop from shock. It's not fencing, you know. You're not trying to break your strings."

Morgana thumped out a few descending sequences in the bass, reminiscent of Phantom of the Opera to emphasize her point. Arthur pulled a face, wiping his hand on a white cloth he kept on the piano. He had been practicing since seven that morning; and there were deep grooves in his fingertips on his left hand. Rolling back his shoulders, Arthur settled the violin under his chin, re-tuning it quickly with a few deft twists of the wrist.

Morgana found folded the edge of her music back, smoothing the spine over with one bejeweled hand. Arthur never quite understood how she managed to play the piano whilst wearing so many rings.

He raised an eyebrow – both in mock question and a signal.

 

 

 

:i:

_2 hours later._

:i:

 

"I am _not_ doing this one more time."

"We need to make sure it's-"

"Arthur," snapped Morgana, stuffing the music into her bag, "I am your accompanist. Not your slave – I refuse to cater to your anal retentive complexes- Don't you point your bow at me!"

Arthur lowered the bow. He glanced at the music, still open on the stand, and turned back to Morgana.

"D. Let's start from figure D on page twenty seven, then."

"WE'VE PLAYED IT THROUGH SIX TIMES," said Morgana, standing up abruptly. At the expression on Arthur's face, however, she stopped, her own expression softening at the edges.

"Look, you're fine," she said, "Note perfect."

"Because that's all that matters here," said Arthur sarcastically. But he put down the violin all the same, carefully wiping the fingerboard with the cloth before sweat could damage the strings. A half opened cake of rosin lay next to the violin, amber and glowing in sunset. Arthur occupied himself by putting it back into its box, cloth corners folded down in neat, practiced squares.

"Honestly though," said Morgana, swiping the last of the orange juice. The ice had all melted by now. "You need to stop practicing before you fall over." Arthur could feel her eying him critically, "Did you eat lunch?"

Arthur waved a hand, irritably. "Yes, 'course."

Morgana being nice always unnerved him somewhat. When she deigned to be nice to him, it either meant that Arthur was being incredibly amazing (unlikely) or he was so appalling even she couldn't bear to tell him. Arthur thought that, under the circumstances, it was probably the latter.

As if reading his mind, Morgana whacked him across the chest with the back of her hand.

"Whatever you're thinking, stop it."

Arthur passed a hand over his face, feeling an ache at the base of his spine from standing too long.

"I just hate… you know," he shrugged, "All this."

"All this as in Bach or all this as in you have a full house next concert and you have to please the critics and your father? Because let me tell you, the latter is not going to happen no matter how good you are."

Arthur snorted, giving her a reluctant smile.

"Right."

"You're welcome," said Morgana, flicking strand of hair over her shoulder. Then she glanced at her watch. "…and now you've made me late. If I get a speeding ticket, you're paying."

Arthur rolled his eyes, and walked her to the studio door. The city outside was a light-scape now; a rim of red disappearing over the horizon. It looked like the curve of an blinking eye, the arch of a pause just before the cadence sank home. Arthur flicked on the gallery lights, bathing the ceiling in a soft glow.

"Ta," said Morgana, donning on her sunglasses and sweeping out the door.

:i:

Merlin wrinkled his nose in distaste, the smell of a hundred bottled horrors hitting him full in the face as the he opened the glass door. He hated pharmacies: mostly because he'd spent half his life in one.

A bell tinkled above him as he stepped into the shop, the air conditioning making him shiver as he made a beeline between the metal shelves and towards the counter. At the sight of Merlin, the girl behind the counter perked up and sat a little straighter on her stool. Before Merlin even opened his mouth, she slid a clear bag over the countertop with a smile.

Merlin made a face.

"Hi Gwen," he said, taking the bag and passing over the prescription, sandwiched between two ten dollar bills. It was a routine they had fallen into almost as soon as they had met, four years ago when Merlin moved to Sydney to study music. The tablets rattled in their small bottles.

Gwen scanned the slip of paper. "Atrovent?" she asked, putting the money into the till and disappearing behind a shelf.

"Yeah," said Merlin, "Ran out."

Gwen reappeared with a small green-white box, which she handed to Merlin with a sympathetic sort of look that always caught Merlin off guard. It was one of the reasons he never told people; he knew he wouldn't be able to stand the pity and assumptions. He took the inhaler from its package, digging a fingernail beneath the plastic seal. It said "Rip Here." Merlin did.

"How's life as the starving artist?" asked Gwen, spinning a blue pen between her fingers.

Merlin gave a snort of laughter, tucking the inhaler in its usual zipped pocket in his bag. A thought struck him and he rummaged in his pockets for a moment before pulling out a packet of nearly-depleted gummy bears.

"I'm hardly starving," he said, grinning as he dropped a handful of colourful sweets into Gwen's hand. She gave him a mock glare, but accepted the bears. It was a sign of deepest trust and friendship that Merlin shared his supply of sweets with Gwen. The giving of sweets was a sacred line you only crossed for the closest of friends (as far as Merlin was concerned).

"Living on sugar doesn't count," she said, trying to look stern. The grin on her face ruined it, however.

"Sugar is a very important part of human diet," said Merlin knowledgably, "And-"

"- and something you don't need any more of," interrupted Gwen, brushing her mane of hair over his Remember who is studying medicine and who is studying how to make noise, thank you Merlin."

Merlin bit off the head of a red bear, stuffing the now empty packet into his pocket again.

"Does this mean you're buying me lunch?" he asked hopefully.

"No," said Gwen.

There was a pause.

"Alright, fine!"

 

 

:i:

 

When Merlin arrived at the performing arts campus, it was only ten in the morning. A few students wandered about the green lawns, white ear buds trailing, noses buried in music. Merlin blinked a few times as he emerged from shadow of C block, and had to think for a few long minutes before he remembered where he was supposed to be at this particular time on this particular day. He started in the direction of the practice rooms, a row on the second floor. If he was right in thinking today was Monday, then Will should be practicing in B26. And if Will was practicing in B26, then Merlin had another hour before he was due to see Gaius. Which, depressingly, also meant that he would have to wait yet another hour before he could have lunch.

As Merlin slowly made his way up the stairs, he was nearly bowled over by someone dashing _down_ the stairs with his violin at arm's length. Pages of manuscript flew everywhere as the bow whacked Merlin on the nose.

"Ow!"

"Sorry! Sorry I'm kinda in a-"

"Lance?" said Merlin, rubbing the bridge of his nose as the other man scrambled to gather his music. They were handwritten, Merlin noted as he bent to help pick some loose pages up and saw the smudges of pencil at the bar-lines.

"Where's the fire?" asked Merlin, handing over a pile of music.

Lance combed his hair back hastily with his fingers, looking a harried – which was unusual for Lance, who usually looked calm and full of zen no matter what was going on around him. In fact, Lance had more or less saved Merlin's life three months ago. He had calmly located Merlin's inhaler and water bottle whilst Merlin lay almost passed out on the floor, chest seizing from running after stupid idiots who had taken off with his iPod. At that point, Merlin could barely conquer the next intake of breath, let alone the zipper of his bag. As it were, Lancelot had retrieved the iPod and cemented their friendship from thereon in. He also had the whole tall, dark, handsome thing going for him – and was straight as a violin bow. Merlin sighed.

Lancelot straightened the files of music into their appropriate order, still looking a little harassed.

"Audition with Monmouth," he said as way of explanation.

"Christ," said Merlin, eyes widening, "Good luck! Not that you'll need it."

"Cheers." Lance flashed him a nervous smile, before turning and hurrying down the flight of stairs without another word. He was nearly at the bottom before Merlin remembered something.

"Isn't your audition this Friday?" he called out.

Lance didn't even pause, and his voice echoed back around the corner.

"It _is_ Friday, Merlin!"

Merlin frowned at the empty space where Lance had just stood, before glancing up at the clock on the wall.

"Shit!"

Needless to say, Will _wasn't_ in room 26. And Merlin _very_ late for-

"Sorry!" Merlin cried, bursting into one of the classrooms. He wasn't out of breath because he had learnt his lesson about running long ago: namely, not to do it. He still felt a little dizzy though, a familiar pulsing at his temple giving him a headache. He itched to take the new inhaler from his bag, but it would only make the headache worse, so he left it where it was. The man sitting on of the grand pianos made a disapproving sound at the back of his throat as his eyebrows rapidly disappeared into his hairline.

Merlin dropped his bag by the door.

"What's the excuse this time?" asked the Maestro, standing up.

"I forgot it was Friday?" Merlin tried, widening his eyes in an expression that usually scored him free sushi with Gwen. Gaius propped up the music stand and Merlin gulped.

"If you did not have the talent you do, my boy, I would have refused to teach you a long time ago. Forgot it was Friday indeed," said Gaius, eyebrows still suitably menacing. "What are you still doing? Sit!"

Merlin sat.

"I want to hear this again," said Gaius, smoothing down the spine of the Urtext so the pages would stay flat. The sheet music was unmarred by pencil notation or scribbles, as smooth and clean as the day Merlin first bought it. "Starting from adagio."

"But what about-"

"And I _mean_ adagio, Merlin."

Merlin took a deep breath, felt it go all the way to his toes and past the recently digested gummy bears in his stomach. Running his index finger down the length of B flat, Merlin began to play. He liked Mozart (so much so he named his budgie after the composer). He liked the way nothing could be hidden between the notes, the way each one must be clear and precise, linked together like pearls on a necklace. It always reminded him of tea and saucers and polished wooden floors in the flat he would like to own someday. The cadences were gentle, the mordents were polite, and Merlin thought it was all rather charming. It spoke of phrases like "drawing rooms" and words like "sunshine" and maybe fields of wildflowers. It wasn't really his fault for getting carried away.

Gaius's voice shook him out of his playing and his hands faltered. Everything was dark.

"Merlin!"

Merlin opened his eyes.

"What?" he asked, blinking his vision into focus.

Gaius was giving him a disapproving sort of look, one eyebrow raised high, then other frighteningly low. He tapped the edge of Merlin's music, and Merlin glanced back at it guiltily.

"You didn't turn the page. Not once."

"I was too busy playing…?" Merlin tried.

"Your eyes were closed," said Gaius, "and your tempo was terrible! Did you look at this at all since yesterday?"

"I practiced!" protested Merlin.

"With the music?"

Merlin looked down at his hands.

"I don't need the music," said Merlin, sulkily, "I can't make myself stare at the notes. My eyes go funny."

"Until you can reign in your excessive improvisations, I want you to practice _with the music._ Am I making myself clear?"

"It's interpretation, Gaius!" Merlin complained, letting his forehead fall onto the piano with a thud, "I can play this already, can't we move on?"

"Your mother sent you to me to learn to play the piano. Not to learn to _play._ Stop being so lazy."

"I'm not being-"

"Mozart is turning in his grave," Gaius intoned gravely, "You need to learn _control_ , my boy."

 

Merlin groaned. His breath misted the surface of the piano lid. He drew a quick angry face in the condensation with his fingertip before turning back to the music. The tail of the quavers seem to string hands, until everything was a blur.

"Mozart changed things too," Merlin muttered under his breath, placing his fingers back onto the polished keys. Beside him, Gaius sat down in his chair.

"Yes. But _unlike_ Mozart, you are neither accomplished nor dead, so I would get on with it."

Staring resolutely at the book in front of his face, Merlin picked up where he left off.

:i:

Half way through the second movement of Bach's Partita, Arthur's phone rang; buzzing on the polished side table as it flashed in silence. Judging by the orange alert screen, it had been buzzing for some time now – Arthur hadn't noticed. Annoyed, he stubbornly finished the phrase he was playing before setting his violin down on top of the piano with a huff of irritation.

He hated interruptions. He also hated phones in general, but they were (or his was) a necessary evil.

Necessary Evil buzzed again, more violently, and Arthur picked it up, flicking it open in the same movement.

"Yes?"

"Is this Mr. Pendragon?" came an unfamiliar voice. Faintly, Arthur could hear clatters and a babble of voices in the background. He frowned.

"Who is this?"

"Mr. Pendragon, you have been listed as Miss Morgana le Fay's emergency contact? You're required at the hospital."

Arthur was glad he wasn't holding still holding his violin. As it was, he nearly dropped his cellphone.

"Sir?"

:i:

Merlin had always wanted to be a kindergarten teacher.

A kindergarten _music_ teacher, to be precise: with an old upright piano (brown) that wasn't quite in tune in the bass (it had been knocked about when transported), and peeling stickers on the chipped keys (middle C!). It would be a piano that had seen more solitary days, perhaps in a drawing room or in the living room as a shelf or as the reluctant companion of a girl with a doll and ringlets to match. But it would be a _nice_ piano, friendly, free. It wouldn't care if Merlin changed Brahms here and there, wouldn't frown like the Steinways did when he pulled back too much or let go and ran full tilt down a sequence of semi-tones. It would be a nice piano that didn't mind fingerprints and coffee stains, that had a broken hinge (which meant Merlin couldn't put music on it – and that was a good thing). He would get to teach four year olds how to sing- _farajaka, farajaka –_ and the piano wouldn't care if they were out of tune – _dor may vu, dor may vu!_

Will accused Merlin of not knowing what he wanted. He did this often, usually when drunk or when Merlin elaborated in detail the kind of house he would like to live in when he was a kindergarten teacher (wooden with high ceilings, window-boxes and an apple tree in the back yard). His teachers complained too. One after another, they lamented his "lack of ambition."

"You lack discipline," Gaius would say, sighing. "Your talent will come to nothing if you continue like this."

Children wouldn't complain about an extra mordent or two.

Merlin bit into his pear, eyeing Will's packet of sushi. He had finished his own ten minutes ago, after Gwen had dropped them on the table and gone racing off to find Lance.

"Monmouth is an annoying bastard," said Will, "He'll probably pull out some convention out of his arse and give Lance a 2.0."

Three down. Seven more sushi pieces to go. Will dunked a piece of salmon into far too much soy sauce, and Merlin wondered if it was too early to try the "look, what's that?" trick. He chewed on his pear thoughtfully, foot tapping out a rhythm on the linoleum of the cafeteria. Will's hair resembled a porcupine today, carefully gelled into chaotic spikes which bobbed as he ate. They didn't really have a direction – just gravitated outwards from Will's head. Merlin didn't have the heart to tell Will that it didn't make him look like a crazy, musical genius. It just made him look crazy.

"If anyone can withdraw a scholarship, it will be that dude."

"Lance is amazing with Bach," said Merlin stoutly, "And Monmouth is a sucker for anything Baroque. I think the repertoire will be fine."

"Ba- God, don't _even-_ " Will stopped to take another bite of sushi, "-talk to me about that fucker. Who the hell stops someone from a vibrato on double stopping, huh? I mean, he makes me feel like I have a fucking stick up my fucking-"

"Will!" Merlin interrupted the stream of profanity.

"I'm telling the _truth._ I refuse to play something written by a bible basher."

Merlin dropped his face into his hands, distressed by both Will's utter lack of respect and the fast disappearing sushi in front of him.

"I cannot believe you just called J.S Bach, father of all music everywhere, a _bible basher._ "

The cafeteria was a huge, square room on the third floor. There were large, floor-to-ceiling windows making up one wall of the room and overlooking the entrance and courtyard below. Merlin got an idea. Standing up on his chair, he interrupted Will's spiel by pointing out the window and exclaiming:

"Holy crap! Look! It's a double bass walking by itself!"

Will spun around in his chair.

"What the hell?"

"Look! It's walking!" said Merlin, gesturing enthusiastically before dropping from his chair and swiping Will's unfinished sushi and stuffing them into his mouth as fast as he could. To be fair, it was really Freya carrying her instrument. But she was so small, and the double bass so big, that from above it did look like a walking cello (in Merlin's defense). The most important point was that by the time Will turned back towards the table, Merlin was licking soy sauce from his fingers.

"You little shit!" shouted Will, so loudly that half the cafeteria stopped to stare, "You stole my food! Again!"

Merlin gave him an angelic smile.

"You're always saying I should eat more."

"But not _my_ food," said Will. He eyed the empty plastic packet with distaste, but sunk further into his chair in defeat. Merlin almost felt a tiny bit guilty. Almost. Will tugged out his battered cellphone from his pocket, flipping it open while Merlin returned to chomping on his half-eaten pear.

"You better run if you don't want to be late to class," he said, kicking Merlin under the table with his foot.

"If I'm on time, the Prof might have a heart attack. _I_ might have a heart attack."

Will gave him a glare in between the spikes of hair.

"Fine. Don't run. Drop out. See if I care – at least then I'll be able to eat my lunch in peace."

Merlin finished off the last of his pear.

"Have you taken your Aquasols then?" Will asked, gruffly.

Merlin pushed back his chair with a metallic screech, groping for the strap of his bag from where it had gotten tangled with one of the chair legs. He rolled his eyes.

"Yes, _mum._ "

 

 

:i:

The _Grande échelle_ was a pretty French restaurant tucked away just out of Darling Point. It catered to those who could afford three digit entrees and wanted their meal served on a billion plates per dish. More importantly, however, it had a lovely Kawai grand that needed a pianist.

"I'm here!" Merlin called out, swinging his messenger bag off his shoulder. Making his way through the back door and into a veritable mist of something sweet smelling, he dumped it on one of the hooks in the employee's restroom. He was meant to go straight into the main room of the restaurant and begin warming up – after all, it was barely half an hour before opening. But as usual, Merlin poked his head around the door of the kitchen hopefully.

"I'm here!" he called again, in case they hadn't heard him the first time. He ventured into the room. It was all stainless steel and polished surfaces. The floor was spotlessly white, and already there was steam rising out of a large, cylinder pot in a _poof_ of deliciousness. Merlin sniffed appreciatively. He took a few steps towards the pot, eyeing the large silver ladle hanging on the hook above it.

Instantly, the sous-chef materialised in front of Merlin, and he squawked with surprise, almost falling backwards onto a newly-prepared dish of Gougère **.**

"Don't even think about it!" said Morgause, brandishing a very large fillet knife.

"I wasn't!" said Merlin, waving his arms, nearly upending someone who was passing with a stack of glasses.

"Stop moving!" Morgause commanded, _still_ holding knife, and Merlin froze in mid flail.

The woman sighed, one hand on her hip as she eyed Merlin up and down, taking in the scuffed shoes and jeans.

"Go get changed, then come back," she said curtly, turning away. Merlin beamed and rushed out of the room, stumbling into the doorframe in his haste. When the sous-chef Morgause said 'come back' in their little routine, it meant Merlin got to sample something tasty that she made. Sometimes several _somethings_ before he had to go out and play the piano for the rest of the night. The incentive made Merlin's mouth water and he quickly pulled the cheap suit from his locker and was changed in record time. There was a reason he loved this job so much.

Merlin barrelled back into the kitchen.

"I'm done!"

One of the younger cooks gave him a very disapproving look as he chopped spring onions by the sink. Merlin didn't mind: he thought he might actually cry if someone else got to eat food whilst he had to chop onions. Well, he would probably be crying anyway, because of the onions, but that was besides the point.

Morgause set a plate down in front of Merlin.

Merlin stared. It looked like some sort of pastry, tips glazed with sugar and there were a ring of candied almonds around the base.

"What is it?"

"Croquembouche," said Morgause, who was already returning to a plate of something that looked very complicated, "Without the caramel glaze. I don't want you breaking your jaw and the dessert is for tomorrow anyway. Eat it!"

Merlin picked the little pastry up. He chewed slowly, tasting the sugar melting on the roof of his mouth.

"I love it!" he beamed. Morgause's expression didn't change, but remained as dead pan as ever. Still Merlin though the corner of her lips might have twitched a little. Maybe.

"Like that's a surprise," she said, "Now go play. You can have dinner before you leave."

"Alright," said Merlin happily, chasing the last pastry crumbs on his lips and making his way out of the kitchen.

The restaurant itself was lit by the soft, pleasant glow of chandeliers and not the stark white of fluorescent. There were faux-frescoes on the ceiling, and the dark wooden panelling on the walls meant lovely acoustics. The grand piano, polished and black, stood slightly off-centre. Merlin could see the warped reflection of all the cutlery in its curved side. He pulled the piano stool out and lifted the lid of the piano and folded up the cloth covering the keys. Then he set the lid up on the first stand, propping it up so the notes could float out of the piano like the scent of sugar cooking, teasing and sweet. Merlin thought he got more exercise than the average person; lifting piano lids every day required a lot of muscles.

Settling himself down comfortably in front of the keys, all of which were perfect and adorable and grinning at him, he ran a quick scale up and down the piano just to warm up his fingers. Then he guiltily wiped them with the cuff of his sleeve as bits of pastry sugar made sticky imprints on the ivory. Oops.

"What shall we have today, mm?" he asked the piano, tickling a few mordents out of the treble like children laughing. He played Chopin the last time he'd worked – you could never go wrong with Chopin in a restaurant – so this time… perhaps… Debussy? Debussy was lovely because he was all impressions and pastel colours. Merlin played a few chords tentatively, modulating the keys so it matched a painting by Chagall he had once seen somewhere…

There came an ominous _crash_ from the kitchen, muffled by the insulated walls. Oh. Morgause didn't like Debussy. Merlin quickly switched the fourths for perfect cadences, tidy as curtseys and twice as polite. Morgause was prone to withhold food from Merlin every time he played something too French (despite this being a French restaurant) and withholding food was something terrible Merlin never wanted to think about. In the end, he settled for typical restaurant sounds, elevator music, letting the chords settle on their own into the lazy twirl of jazz as the first customers began to trickle in.

/EMBED DAY AND NIGHT

This was definitely on his top three dream occupations, thought Merlin as he improvised a request (Chopin) that he had heard but never seen, playing piano for a group of happily-eating people. He thought he would be perfectly content to come in every night and play the piano at _La_ _Grande échelle_ for the rest of his life, sneaking in film music here and there, watching the semiquavers sink sneakily into cream puffs and soup like extra seasoning. It was hard work, but he enjoyed it and he mentally rearranged his career choices.

1\. Kindergarten music teacher.

2\. The pianist at _La Grande Echelle_.

3\. Official food taster at _La Grande Echelle_.

The Maestro would probably scold him for having no ambition or something along those lines, but Merlin couldn't comprehend why he should have so much ambition if he was happy with this, happy with _music._ The patrons here never told him off if he put a little too much _rubato_ into Mozart like a cook experimenting with herbs and salt. And if he liked to improvise, it was only because the mordents looked ever so sparkly, hanging onto the chandeliers like that. Merlin played a few more, just to see them float up towards the ceiling like champagne bubbles.

And nearly fell off his chair when he leaned too far back.

He thought of all the pieces waiting to be pulled apart, sitting, pages unturned. He thought of the notes taken down in scrawled handwriting, corners wrinkled like a well-hummed tune in his bag along with empty wrappers and his keys. And in a surge of whim, Merlin slurred everything over, phrases melting into each other like the best kind of golden syrup, and he almost laughed out loud at what Mozart might have said about it.

:i:

Arthur nearly killed seven pedestrians, two bikers and a dog getting to the hospital. When he had arrived, it was to find that there were no parking vacancies in the hospital car-park. Swearing very loudly, he double parked with a screech of rubber and dashed up the stone steps into the brightly lit hospital foyer.

"Morgana Le Fay," he snapped to the receptionist, who took one look at his face and began clicking through whatever was on her computer screen.

"Third floor, room twenty six of the- sir!"

Arthur was already half way across the hall, jabbing his thumb impatiently at the "up" button on the elevator. He felt disorientated, a sick, squeezing sensation in his stomach He barely registered the plastic words – ambulatory care- before he was flinging open a door to reveal-

"- what do you mean I can't play for the next three months?" Morgana was yelling at the doctor. Arthur's breath rushed out of him in a giant exhale. _Morgana was alive_. And well enough to be throwing a fit, apparently. A nurse hovered by her patient, and at the sight of Arthur, she said,

"Excuse me, sir, but you can't-"

"She's my sister," said Arthur, without looking at her and strode into the room. Morgana was propped up on a narrow hospital bed, looking terrible with an ugly bruise on her temple and her hand set in a white cast. Her face was chalk-pale aside from the two spots of colour high on her cheeks as she continued to rage at her poor doctor.

"That's bullshit, it was a fucking-"

"Morgana!" said Arthur, taking hold of her free hand so she would look at him, "What the hell happened? Are you alright?"

"It was a fucking taxi driver, Arthur-" Morgana started, but the doctor cut across her.

"Miss le Fay has broken her wrist."

Arthur glanced at the cast, then back at the doctor. His hands felt cold.

"Broken?"

"And her index finger is badly fractured. The cast will need to stay on for at the very least six weeks-"

"I want a second opinion-"

"And then I recommend therapy for the muscles after the cast comes off."

Morgana pulled her hand out of her brother's with a jerk.

"For heavens sake-"

"How long until she can use her hand?"

The doctor consulted his clipboard in a way that suggested he wanted to be anywhere but here right now. Arthur thought this was understandable since Morgana was directing her full fury at him. She was glaring so coldly that Arthur would have found it hilarious had the circumstances been different.

"Three months."

"Oh Jesus," cursed Arthur, mouth suddenly dry.

"We don't have three months, Arthur! The recital is in three fucking _weeks_!"

Arthur turned to her at last, trying to stamp down on the panic curling in his gut. _Gods. Why did this have to happen now?_

"I am aware of that, Morgana-"

"I'm your accompanist! Now I'm your ex-accompanist! You're screwed! Or are you suffering from concussion as well?" spat Morgana while she poked him hard in the chest.

"Ma'am you need to rest-" the doctor started and then quailed under Morgana's glare.

"Arthur, what part of not being able to play the piano don't you-"

"I wasn't exactly thinking about my fucking recital when I got the call from the hospital, alright Morgana?" shouted Arthur, feeling his chest constrict and expand in the space of a heartbeat. The relief from barely five minutes ago had faded, and he was breathless in the face of this new catastrophe.

Morgana's expression softened slightly.

"Arthur, I just-"

"I can find another accompanist. It'll be alright." It didn't sound very convincing, even to himself.

"Arthur, I don't know anyone who can learn three concertos, two Rachs and an original transcription in less than four weeks. Oh God, I've ruined everything. Shit. Shit! SHIT!" She flopped dramatically back onto her pillows, hair fanning out.

Arthur passed a hand over his face and took a few deep breaths. Impulsively, he dug into his jacket pocket for his cellphone. Morgana's eyes widened as she saw him scrolling through the address book.

"Oh, fuck no. No! You are _not_ ringing Uther."

"I'm not ringing father," Arthur lied uneasily with his thumb hovering over the call button.

"All he's going to do is confiscate my car and then we'll ALL be screwed."

Arthur sighed.

"I hate to be practical here, but as you've so calmly pointed out, I am already 'screwed'. My father knows more people than I do, perhaps he can find someone in time for the concert."

Morgana made a frustrated noise at the back of her throat, and smacked her fist into the bed with a dull _thud._ The doctor looked worriedly from Morgana to Arthur than back again, clutching his clipboard. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Arthur pushed the call button, feeling as if his whole world was crashing down about his ears.

 

 

:i:

In a little French restaurant by the port, Merlin gleefully butchered Mozart into pieces.

 

:i:

 


	2. TWO

 

 

**:i:**

_"Improvisation: The art of thinking and performing music simultaneously."_

\- Grove Dictionary of Music (1954)

 

**:i:**

 

On Monday, Gaius had a whole pile of CDs and scores waiting for Merlin. The pile was so big Merlin literally skidded to a halt in the doorway, jaw dropping with horror at seeing seven German _Urtexts_ residing in the same room.

"Ah good," said the Maestro, looking up from a page of notes. Merlin dropped his bag and several red gummy bears escaped from an unzipped pocket.

"What is that?" he asked, eyeing the stack of scores and making his way around the far end of the piano to avoid them. Gaius chuckled.

"I have a job for you. If you're interested."

Merlin perked up. The last time Gaius had wrangled Merlin a job, it was _La Grande Echelle_. He trusted Gaius' judgment impeccably after that – aside from when it came to Mozart and Beethoven, of course.

"Okay!" said Merlin, forgetting the Urtexts instantly in the face of possible pastries and a new piano to play on. He bounced a little on the piano stool.

Gaius raised an eyebrow.

"It's not that sort of job, Merlin. It's time you started concentrating more on your repertoire, and I've recommended you for an accompanist post."

So no pastries. But that was alright, thought Merlin. He often accompanied people, students usually, as he had a knack of learning pieces incredibly quickly, and according to Gaius, incredibly inaccurately. Also, people paid accompanists well and that was always a bonus. Merlin always loved the different voices that came with playing with someone else. He loved hearing how the novelty of an oboe sweetened the tenor of the piano, how the cello was like a particularly well-made pastry base to fluffy treble notes or how the violin was just so romantic.

"You'll need to have better concentration than this, at any rate," said Gaius. Merlin suddenly realised he'd become too immersed in his food and music simile and had zoned out completely. He gave Gaius a guilty grin, and the Maestro only shook his head fondly.

"I think this will be invaluable for you."

"Who am I accompanying?" asked Merlin, curious.

"Arthur Pendragon. He's a violinist – very good. "

"Ohh, a violin!" said Merlin, ecstatic, "Okay!"

Gaius' other eyebrow went up also.

"He has a very demanding repertoire," he said, pulling the scores closer and laying them out on the music stand. Merlin's eyes boggled. "And the concert is in three weeks."

Merlin flipped open one of the books, a smoothly red Rachmaninov (Of course it was Rach), gingerly. The others were just as daunting with their titles in black and gold. Mozart. Bach. No water-color impressionists here. Only music like oils and sharp ink. Merlin drooped a little.

"Why am I only being called in at three weeks?" asked Merlin.

"His accompanist had an accident. Injured her hands quite severely," said Gaius and Merlin winced in sympathy. He chewed on his bottom lip, turning another page of yet another Urtext. "I know Arthur's father of old, and I recommended you. No one else will be able to play these up to standard in the space of three weeks."

Merlin puffed up a little at the thought of Gaius choosing him, _him_ , above all the other students at the conservatoire. The feeling was warm and inflated his heart like a Brahms lullaby.

"Thanks, Gaius," said Merlin, grinning, "I won't let you down."

He reached for the CDs, but Gaius stopped him, pushing the CDs away. Merlin frowned.

"You have no idea who Arthur Pendragon is, do you?" asked Gaius, sighing.

"No," said Merlin, confused, "Should I?"

"I know for a fact you live in an apartment, Merlin Emrys, and not under a rock. Let's just say you will be learning all of the pieces by score-"

"NOO!" Merlin wailed.

"- and I want _these_ ," Gaius slapped Rachmaninov and Mozart into Merlin's lap, "Memorised by Wednesday. I know you can do it."

"But I _can't_!" cried Merlin, feeling a little dizzy from all the horror. He drew the word "can't" out. "You know I learn with recordings. How else am I going to get everything up to scratch in three weeks?"

"Arthur Pendragon is not that Lancelot fellow you always accompany. Bluffing your way through all the difficult sections will not suffice, Merlin."

"I don't bluff my way through them!" protested Merlin, indignantly, "I improve them!"

Gaius gave him a stern glare and Merlin shut his mouth quickly with a _click_ of teeth.

"Don't be blasphemous," scolded Gaius, "Now let's begin."

Merlin groaned.

"Can I get Lance to practice with me as a warm up?" he asked, hopefully.

"No."

"Can I at least listen to the CD once through?"

Gaius whacked him over the head with a rolled up piece of manuscript.

"Ow!"

"I can promise you your usual lackadaisical playing will not work for Pendragon at all. So we better start now. You have a long way to go."

 

:i:

 

Merlin first played the piano at kindergarten.

He was only five when his father died from cystic fibrosis.

The fact that these two things occurred at the same time was always something Merlin kept tucked away at the back of his mind. To be absolutely honest, he couldn't remember his father very well at all – just the smell of grass, dirt, warm hugs and rumbling laughter. He could vaguely recall smiles, crinkles around the eyes like crinkles in well loved music and the sensation of flying. But that was all.

He could recall the piano with perfect clarity.

 

**:i:**

"He's still studying at the university?" asked Arthur, unable to keep the doubt from his voice.

"Apparently he is a prodigy, according to Gaius," said his father stiffly, setting down his pen and appraising Arthur from behind the wide expanse of his desk. Arthur tried not to fidget.

"It's just – perhaps it would be better to hire a professional?"

"Morgana is professional," said Uther flatly, "and even she says it's impossible."

"Then why-"

"I trust Gaius," said Uther in a way that brooked no argument, "He has never been wrong in the past."

"How soon can we start rehearsing?" asked Arthur. He felt tired, exhausted from the building tension that had him coiled tighter than a violin string. Now that the shock of finding Morgana in hospital was wearing off, Arthur was being slowly and surely consumed with panic.

Uther typed something on the laptop in front of him, and it was a long moment before he spoke.

"This Friday. Gaius says Emrys will have your concertos and Rachmaninov by then."

Arthur's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"This Friday? That's… impressive."

Uther snorted derisively.

"We shall see. I don't need to tell you how important this concert is, Arthur."

Silence smothered the room like words on a page.

"Yes, Father."

Arthur went back to his studio. Once there however, he couldn't bring himself to play, to drill the bars he knew better than the back of his own hand. Instead, he made himself freshly-squeezed orange juice and played the Borodin Quartet through the surround sound system. Chamber music always managed to calm him down.

Arthur took the glass of juice with him and settled into the only comfortable chair in the room. He watched the sunlight filter through the windows and ceiling, watched it refract off the glass shelves. The picture of his mother smiled at him from the corner of the room, and Arthur thought about playing one of her recordings instead and listening to the droplets of an imaginary piano fall from the wall. She was an amazing pianist, or so he had been told.

Deliberately, Arthur drained the juice. He rinsed it under the cold tap and set it to dry in the never-used dish washer. Wiping his hands with the white towel hanging by the sink, he made his way back to the piano. His violin case was closed, sitting silent and still on the table. He could do this in his sleep. Arthur let the smell of rosin fill his senses, familiar and safe.

A violinist is never perfect.

Arthur picked up his violin.

 

:i:

 

Merlin dumped all the new music on top of all his other music on top of his piano. He glared at it for a few moments before collapsing onto a beanbag. It was already Tuesday, and he was only half way through the Rachmaninov. The notes on the page seemed to squeeze and pull each other into illegibility every time Merlin tried to concentrate, making him feel as if he was musically retarded. If his budgie's reaction to his playing was anything to go by, he was sounding musically challenged too.

"I can't do this!" he complained to Wolfgang, "It's impossible! I bet not even Lang Lang could do this. Not even…No. Liszt _could_. And he'd totally rub it in my face."

Wolfgang chirruped and Mozart gave his companion a disapproving peck. Merlin got up from his beanbag, slipped on an empty candy packet and fell down again. Getting back up, he made his way carefully to where the cage hung, opening the door and sliding in a tentative finger. He poked Wolfgang in the fluffy stomach, nudging until the bird conceded and hopped onto his index finger. Merlin quickly withdrew before Mozart could bite him.

"I don't see why I have to memorise it when I get to use music anyway," said Merlin grumpily, walking back towards where his piano was just visible beneath everything that was on top of it, "Gaius is just being difficult as usual."

Wolfgang nibbled his thumb.

"Accompanists don't have to be note perfect," Merlin continued, "That's the best thing about it. No one is really listening to you, right? This would be so much easier with a recording…"

Flopping down onto the piano, Merlin set Wolfgang down so that he perched on top of the music stand. He hoped the budgie wouldn't poop on the piano again. Behind them, Mozart squawked indignantly, probably unhappy to be left behind. Merlin turned on his seat.

"You'll fly around the room and get stuck in some dark corner and I'll have to spend all day finding you," he told Mozart, "you never sit still."

Mozart said something very rude in a language Merlin couldn't understand. Sighing, the pianist picked up the first book on the pile (Rach) and smoothed it open on the rarely-used music stand. There was a little Post-It note in the corner, marking where Merlin had got to yesterday. He flipped to that page now, pressing down on the new spine to make the music sit right.

Wolfgang scooted over to the right to make room.

"Thanks," said Merlin.

Running a finger down a black key in apology, Merlin once again began to sight read.

An hour later, he was digging through his flat for his laptop.

"It must be here somewhere!" he told Wolfgang, who was riding on his shoulder, "I'm pretty sure I've used it recently. I think." He dived afresh into a new pile of laundry, pushing aside an open suitcase and several bags full of supermarket cookies. He almost dislodged Wolfgang when he threw several pillows out of the way. Dust tickled his nose, and Merlin sneezed. Then coughed. And continued to cough, wheezing a little as he tried to get rid of the familiar, obstructed feeling tight at the back of his throat. Forcing himself to stillness, Merlin gasped in a gulp of air and held it. Then it shook out of him in another bout of coughing which sent Wolfgang tumbling off his shoulders in a flurry of feathers and concerned chirping. He hated these episodes; random and triggered by the smallest of things. Merlin blinked tears out of his eyes as the coughing slowly receded. He let out a tentative exhale of breath, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, and returned to his search.

"Ah," said Merlin a little while later, pulling out the old black laptop, "Here we go."

It took more than five minutes to turn on, but at long last Merlin managed to connect to the wifi internet next door and logged onto YouTube. Then he proceeded to systematically type in all the pieces on the repertoire, setting the laptop onto the piano so he could follow along with the music at the same time.

The speakers of the laptop hummed and buzzed with the music, crackly and not the best. Merlin grinned as he turned the page.

 

:i:

 

By that night, Merlin could play the Rachmaninov from beginning to finish.

 

:i:

 

Gaius was glaring at him from where he sat, rolled up manuscript held poised in one hand. Merlin gulped as he lifted his hands from the keys, the lingering notes of the concerto still sinking into the walls like transparent bubbles. Merlin tried to look suitably innocent, widening his eyes in an expression perfected over the years in order to obtain offerings of cookies from middle-aged women and free food everywhere.

"Not bad," said Gaius at last, and Merlin almost cheered out loud, "But it sounds as if you learnt this blind."

Merlin went back to looking innocent.

"Blind?" he parroted.

Gaius, who thought Merlin was still seven years old, who hadn't really entered the twenty-first century yet, and who had not discovered YouTube, frowned.

"I don't know how many times I must tell you, but your accuracy is still abysmal. Sergei certainly did not write in that passage during the presto."

"I don't know what you mean," said Merlin sweetly, and the piano giggled, all strings and trills. Merlin quickly stepped on the _une corda_ pedal.

Gaius rifled through the pages, eyebrows still as intimidating as ever. Merlin resisted the urge to poke them.

"I want to hear this again. Begin."

The Maestro was a heartless dictator.

"You know I'm not going to be able to play everything perfectly like a machine, right?" intoned Merlin sulkily, "Machines are overrated. I bet this Pendragon person wouldn't want a machine either."

_Thwack._

"Less talking, more playing," said Gaius, unrolling the score theateningly.

 

:i:

 

"Arthur Pendragon?" repeated Lance, " _Pendragon_? Are you sure?"

"No. I was joking," said Merlin, biting into his second sandwich, "Are you happy now?"

"Pendragon as in Uther Pendragon's son?"

Merlin was beginning to get annoyed at all the fuss his friend was making of Prat. They should have been paying due sympathy to the pain of playing with a metronome for five hours straight.

"Well since they both have the same last name that would probably be it," he said peevishly.

Lance had abandoned his own lunch in favour of staring at Merlin with a disgustingly bright expression on his face. Merlin chewed the tuna viciously.

"Pendragon. As in _Deutsche Grammaphon executive_ Pendragon."

Merlin dropped his sandwich. Thankfully, it landed in his lap and not the floor.

"His father's a music critic?"

Will repeatedly mimed slamming his head into the table beside Lance. Merlin felt a little bit of horror seep into his soul. Music critics were right up there with metronomes and neck-ties on his list of Evil Things. He hoped very much that Arthur Pendragon was not going to be like this father. Was the evil aura of critics hereditary?

"Only the scariest critic this side of the hemisphere," cut in Will. "Why did you say yes to Gaius, mate?"

"I thought it was going to involve pastry!" cried Merlin.

"This is a once in a lifetime opportunity!" said Lance, as if Will hadn't spoken at all. "Networking, Merlin!"

Will glared. His hair glared also.

"Critics are all the same," he declared loudly. Several of the nearby students looked over, and Merlin saw some of them nodding in agreement, "They should all jump off the Harbour Bridge."

"Your homicidal tendencies concern me," said Lance with dignity, even while drinking soda out of a can.

"Their job is to give musicians nightmares," announced Will.

"Your hair gives me nightmares," replied Lance without looking up.

"He will cut you down, cut you down!" said Will doggedly as he focused his attention on a quivering Merlin. "They are all bad, _bad_ news."

"I'm meeting him this afternoon," said Merlin, clutching his music bag. "Don't tell me that!"

"I'll come with you, if you like," said Will generously, "and run through things." He glanced down at his wristwatch. "We still have about half an hour. Let's jam."

"What if his father is there?" asked Merlin, looking a little green.

There was a long moment of silence at the little table. All three music students paused in their eating to contemplate the idea of Merlin in the same room as a music critic. The image was akin to that of Merlin being in the same room as a metronome.

"I'm sure he's not that bad," said Lance encouragingly.

As promised, Will ditched his musical theory lecture to keep Merlin company. They made their way across the campus and took the lift instead of the stairs. Will insisted upon carrying Merlin's bag like the mother hen he was.

"All those books in one place can't be good for you," he said stoutly as they stepped out of the elevator and onto the first floor. There were several practice rooms on this ground floor, all of which were bigger and nicer than the ones located on the top floor which meant usually they were all booked out. Gaius had reserved one for Merlin and Pendragon's first practice, however, and Merlin was grateful for the space when he pushed open the heavy, sound-proof door.

"Have you gone through everything then?" asked Will, dumping his violin case on top of a table by the wall. Merlin pulled out a few of the music by random and set them out on top of the piano's glossy lid.

"Yeah. Except for the handwritten one, some transcription from Wieniawski. The piano is positively odd! I'm going to change it."

Merlin sat down on the piano stool and opened the lid with a little excited bounce.

"I like your attitude," said Will, pointing his bow at Merlin like a sword whilst tightening it.

Merlin played a little random excerpt, trying out the pedals. Music dropped out of the bottom of the piano like marbles, clear and solid. They sank into the carpet as soon as they were played, and Merlin played some more just to let the sound run into one another like excited children. He began playing a little of the Beethoven, simple and pretty, imagining the violin slurring everything over like a singer. It would be something bright, so the piano had to be gentler, softer like pastels on canvas. Merlin stroked the keys, dithering as Will came to stand by the piano.

"Far too boring. Let's go."

Merlin grinned.

/EMBED BEETHOVEN VIOLIN EXTRACT "LOL" version

 

:i:

 

Arthur had never actually set foot in this part of the conservatoire before.

His suit jacket and dress pants drew curious looks from the jean-clad population. But he ignored them and walked purposefully in what he hoped was the right direction. Arthur fingered the piece of paper in his pocket ( _Room 4, first corridor to the right_ ) and shifted his grip on the handle of his violin case. Opening the glass doors, he stepped into the small foyer which led into a long, spacious hallway. Green doors, all of which were closed, lined the length of the corridor and offered entry into the practice rooms. Each room was identified by a brass number of by the handle. Faintly, as if from a great distance, Arthur could hear strands of music. He stopped outside door number four and looked in.

There was a little rectangle of glass set in the door, through which Arthur could see a sliver of piano and the back of someone very skinny, bent over the keys. There was also a violinist with absolutely shocking hair. He was bent almost double as he played with vigour. Arthur frowned, taking the piece of paper from his pocket. He glanced at the number on the door – perhaps there had been a mistake?

No. Arthur Pendragon did not make mistakes.

He opened the door.

Sound washed over him like a wave. For a brief moment, he caught the piano, lyrical and startlingly beautiful beneath a truly horrendous violin counterpart. Then the violinist stopped abruptly and then spun around to face Arthur. It took the pianist another three seconds to realise he had been interrupted.

"Ever heard of knocking?" asked the violinist, annoyed, hair bobbing in spikes as he talked.

Arthur raised an eyebrow and set down his violin case.

"Ever heard of a schedule? I believe I have this room booked for two o'clock."

The man's eyes darted from Arthur's tie to his violin case; then he said, with dawning comprehension and not a lick of respect:

" _You're_ Pendragon?"

"Yes," said Arthur curtly, "I'm here to meet with my accompanist. Do you know where Mr. Emrys might be?"

"Oh man. I _told you_ he'd be a fucking arse," he said to his friend, who was looking at Arthur with wide, blue eyes.

 _Very familiar blue eyes_. Recognition was a strange sensation, rising hot past Arthur's collar. The ears were unmistakable.

"You!" he exclaimed, completely forgetting about being aloof. "What are you doing here?"

He had never imagined he'd see strange person who had bought Arthur back to his hole of a flat. Truth be told, Arthur hadn't thought about Merlin at all after that incident, which may or may not have involved a bottle of tequila, but seeing him again was like getting the air knocked out of him. But Arthur couldn't quite say _why_ that was, exactly.

Hair Disaster looked from Arthur to his friend.

"You didn't tell me you knew each other, Merlin," he said, sounding confused.

"We don't," said Arthur determinedly.

"…."

"MERLIN!" Will waved a hand in front of Merlin's face, and the boy (for he looked no older than 18) seemed to start out of a daze. He began to ramble.

"We don't. Know each- I mean, I didn't know he was-"said Merlin, because obviously someone who kidnapped people off the street would be called _Merlin,_ "not really I thought, I mean obviously-"

"I don't have time for this," said Arthur, beginning to get annoyed. He was oddly distracted by Merlin's cheekbones, something he didn't really have time to notice during their first meeting… kidnapping… escapade. He frowned and held tightly onto the present. "Where's this Emrys?"

Merlin coughed.

"I'm Emrys. Merlin Emrys, actually. And you're Aesth- uh, Arthur Pendragon…?"

Arthur stared some more.

"You're joking."

Merlin blinked at him.

"You're _not_ Arthur Pendragon?"

Arthur didn't know whether he was being laughed at or the pianist – Merlin Emrys- was really this mentally deficient. He went with the latter.

"If you are indeed Emrys, then I hope you are as good as advertised," he said imperiously, turning to unpack his violin from its case. He slid the shoulder rest onto the base of the violin and swiped his bow with two long strokes of rosin.

"A," said Arthur.

"A what?" replied Merlin, still staring at him like a gormless child. Arthur gave him his most incredulous sort of glare.

"Play an A!"

"Oh! Right!" Merlin pressed down the appropriate key quickly, then helpfully added a D minor triad. Arthur ignored it, tuning quickly. He glanced sideways at the other violinist, who was still standing by the piano.

"Excuse me. I have a practice now," said Arthur, raising both eyebrows.

"So what?" retorted Hair Disaster.

"So it's your cue to leave."

"Who the fuck do you-"

"Will!" said Merlin.

Throwing Arthur a disgusted look, Hair Disaster, whose name was apparently Will, swung his violin case over his shoulder, violin and bow still held in one hand, and then stormed from the room. Shrugging, Arthur undid his top button and loosened his tie so that it wouldn't get in the way of playing. He turned back to face his pianist. The brief interaction with Will seemed to have rendered Merlin rather speechless, and he was _still_ staring at Arthur over the top of the piano.

"How much of the repertoire have you finished?" asked Arthur because one of them had to be professional.

Fumbling, Merlin pulled a stack of music from a brown satchel by the foot of the piano. He dumped them in an untidy pile beside the music stand. Arthur resisted the urge to straighten them.

"Most," said Merlin, "Finished going through the concertos. And the Beethoven. And your Bach, of course."

Arthur was pleasantly surprised, even impressed. But he only said, "Good. We'll warm up with _Spring_ , I think. Run it through."

Merlin flashed him a grin that momentarily blinded Arthur with its intensity. Arthur had to look deliberately away with a frown. He settled the violin beneath his chin, the sensation of it familiar as breathing. The bow between his fingers. The strings beneath. The stillness before the first note.

/EMBED BEETHOVEN VIOLIN – FULL

Merlin was very different from Morgana. It threw Arthur off, more than a little (which he realised, at the back of his mind, was a Very Bad Thing. You should never become dependent as a musician.) Morgana had a mastery of the piano that was rare; everything was precise and sharp like clear print on a smooth page. From the very first note, Merlin was… _cantabile._ That was the first word that came to Arthur's mind.The notes were fluid, gentle and it made Arthur lean in, unconsciously, closer.

Perhaps it was the piece, which was open major like an open skylight. But the sheer enjoyment on Merlin's face made Arthur feel as if the piano was pouring notes down his throat in a wash of sunlight. It took him by surprise, this odd, skinny pianist who played as if he had never stopped . Arthur let his notes ring clear, loose vibrato from the wrist to better hear how the accompaniment wound itself around the sustained note like-

Merlin was doing some very strange with the dialogue in his right hand. Something very strange and blatantly _wrongwrongwrong._ They kept playing, but it was obvious Merlin was beginning to – Arthur didn't really know what the hell was going on. He scowled and stopped.

Merlin kept going.

Arthur whacked him hard on the side of the head with the nearest Urtext. _Bach_.

"Ow!" cried Merlin, hands flying off the keyboard to clutch at his head. He stared up and Arthur.

"What was that?" demanded Arthur, "What on earth were you playing?"

Guilt flashed across Merlin's face, but he gave Arthur his most winning smile.

"The music..?"

Arthur could feel a headache coming. He played a phrase, quickly, briefly on his violin.

"From there. Show me."

"Uh…" said Merlin, glancing at the music in front of him. And that's when Arthur noticed. Although they were almost half way through the first movement, Merlin's music was still on the first page. Moreover, the book was upside down. Arthur stared, slightly confused and very irritated. He gave Merlin a measured glare.

"The music fell over," said Arthur's new accompanist, smiling hopefully.

Arthur was speechless.

"That was utterly rubbish!" exploded Arthur. Well, almost speechless. "You can't make things up in a lapse of memory," he continued, throwing up one hand in exasperation. He hoped his expression said 'profoundly displeased' because they had no time to waste as it was. Then something occurred to him.

"And why are you having a lapse of memory in the first place when you have the bloody music right in front of you? You're useless!"

Merlin was staring at him (again!). His eyes were very round and his mouth was slightly open; he looked like an idiot. Arthur gripped Merlin by the base of the neck with his free hand and forcibly turned his head to face the music.

"Beginning!" said Arthur, righting the music and stepping back.

 

:i:

 

"…he keeps going on tangents!" Arthur complained.

"Uh-huh," said Morgana, flipping a page of the magazine she was currently reading.

"Yes. I mean, he isn't too terrible a pianist. Obviously one who can't sight read to save his life, but still. Every time I think we are getting somewhere, he will play something blatantly improvised. It's unacceptable! I don't know what the Maestro was thinking. I can't go into concert with him, Morgana – he said he was _improving_ Beethoven. _Improving Beethoven!_ "

"You realise he managed to pick up two and a half hours worth of _your_ repertoire in the space of a week?"

"I didn't say he was _useless,_ per se-" said Arthur.

"I bet you did," replied Morgana with a smirk.

"He drives me crazy!"

"…"

"This is all your fault," said Arthur and gave up.

"Pass the orange juice."

 

:i:

 

This time Merlin saw the Urtext coming and managed to save a few brain-cells by dodging to the left. However, he overestimated the length of the piano stool and fell off. Arthur slapped the book back down onto the piano.

"Are you retarded or just blind?" he demanded as Merlin picked himself off the ground.

"Why are you so grumpy?" muttered Merlin. He was genuinely perplexed. Arthur seemed more interested in the accompaniment than in his own playing. In fact, his playing had become almost mechnical rarely varying despite the number of repeitions. As far as Merlin could tell, Arthur had everything note perfect, down to the very last staccato dot. It was almost like playing with a metronome, and it was beginning to make Merlin nervous.

Arthur looked a little mad albeit in an immaculately-dressed kind of way. His collar was still a perfect, white line although he'd been playing for the last hour or so. He looked a little wild about the eyes.

"Morgana was never so sloppy," he said, jabbing a finger at the music. "It's dialogue. _Dialogue!_ It ruins my part if you're off doing your own thing!"

"I wasn't doing my own thing!" protested Merlin.

"I'm pretty sure those harmonies weren't like that the last time I checked!" said Arthur, "Also, _you_ are meant to be following _me._ Stop slowing down here, it's not the exposition." He stabbed the page another time. It was going to be full of holes. Exhausted, Merlin slumed a little where he sat. Arthur set his violin down on top of the piano so that he might more easily tear his own hair in what appeared to be utter exasperation. He turned around in a half-circle, muttering to himself. Merlin watched him warily. He really didn't understand what Arthur's problem with his playing _was_ – aside from his obsession with doing everything to exact specifications.

"Are you nervous about the concert?" asked Merlin tentatively, and then he screwed his eyes shut in preparation for the explosion. When none came, he cracked open his eyes slowly to find Arthur staring at him rather oddly.

"I don't get nervous, Merlin," he said curtly.

"Well," said Merlin, waving a hand vaguely, "you don't look like you're enjoying yourself at the moment."

At this, Arthur frowned. Or rather, his frown deepened. Merlin wished he would get a smile.

"What has that got to do with anything?" said Arthur, dismissively. He picked up his violin again, wiping one hand on a white cloth. Fastidious. Merlin blinked.

"What has...? Everthing! Why are you playing the sonata if you don't like it?" asked Merlin, closing the music on the stand and reaching for the last one on the "yet to play" pile. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"It's not about what I like and don't like," said Arthur, speaking very slowly as though Merlin was either very young or mentally retarded. Or both. "In fact," Arthur continued, "that's something you should learn. For example… _not changing things as you see fit_!"

Merlin winced.

"Look, I'm _trying_ -" he started, but Arthur cut him off with an impatient wave of his hand.

"Try harder. We'll start from _G_."

Merlin pouted but turned the pages obediently.

 

:i:

 

They never talked about their first meeting.

Arthur thought it s count as a _first meeting_ because not all the participants were sober. He kept everything strictly _on the music_ so as to avoid any embarrassing conversations that might swerve that way. After all, Arthur was a professional.

Merlin marked the date carefully on his cellphone.

 

:i:

 

That evening, Merlin lay on his beanbag and finished sewing the Arthur-plushie. From his ears trailed his earphones and his iPod played Arthur's pieces on repeat, over and over. He was sprawled on his stomach, materials scattered haphazardly around him while he worked on getting Arthur's expression _just so._ He had debated over giving Arthur button eyes, but the film _Coraline_ had been far too scary for Merlin to try anything with buttons. Instead, he gave Arthur eyes sewn with dark blue and black thread, neat and round on a cotton face. On his iPod, the _Caprice_ was playing.

Merlin sighed, reaching for another gummi bear and popping it into his mouth.

He had been wary of making Arthur's face, before. Merlin had left the plushie a sad incomplete shape with blond silk hair because he didn't want to risk making a mistake. But now that he had seen Arthur – _Arthur._ Merlin made a happy noise and ate another bear. It wouldn't do to give Arthur plushie the smile he _was_ going to give him – throughout their entire rehearsal Arthur hadn't made even the slightest twitch towards a smile. When he played, there was a permanent little frown on his face, a furrow between his eyebrows as he concentrated. For a violinist, he stood remarkably still. Merlin kept being distracted by Arthur's left hand, his fingers flitting over the strings, sure, precise. The long notes made Merlin feel as if Arthur was bowing his heart strings, the vibration going all the way down to his toes and fingertips. Merlin shivered at the memory and turned up the volume on his iPod.

Arthur shouted a lot. Merlin didn't mind, really, even though he was faintly worried Arthur might go find someone else. He was worse than Gaius when it came to Merlin playing 'properly', and kept calling him 'useless' every time Merlin deviated from the accompaniment. The more he said it, the more flustered Merlin became which resulted in convoluted tempos and hastily covered up notes. Arthur hadn't looked happy.

Merlin cut out Arthur's miniature jacket with infinite care. There was something… _intense_ about Arthur's playing that made Merlin want to close his eyes and sink into the music. It was the sound of something being perfectly executed, and so Merlin found it hard to concentrate on his own part, to keep going and not to whisper the right hand in order to give the violin more room to _breathe._

It left Merlin with an achy feeling inside his chest. Will said it was because Merlin forgot to take his pills after lunch, but Merlin didn't think so. This was a wholly _Arthur_ effect, and he wanted to feel it again. He had wondered and wondered after the strange, drunk man, who'd drooled on Merlin's pillow. When Aesthetically Pleasing had run away so suddenly, Merlin had been _heartbroken_. But now he was back! Surely it was destiny?

Wolfgang finished eating a piece of thread and chirruped in agreement.

He put the two templates for the jacket side by side and threaded a needle through in order to start stitching. It was going to be a wonderful plushie. Merlin could just tell.

 

:i:

 

"I should sack you," said Arthur, halfway through their third practice.

"You can't sack accompanists," said Merlin brightly.

"I think you'll find that I can."

"But you won't." As if proving his point, Merlin gave Arthur a grin that stretched literally from ear to ear.

Arthur glared at him, but there was no heat behind it. He was tired. His shoulders were a little sore from a long day's worth of practice, and there was a buzzing in his ear – a strange buzzing sound like the sound of a perfect third that was, well, a little _too_ perfect. Merlin was bent over the far side of the piano stool, searching for something in his bag. A moment later, he resurfaced, holding out half eaten packet of colourful sweets.

He proffered it to Arthur.

"No, thank you," said Arthur, wrinkling his nose.

Merlin's face fell.

Arthur took one.

 

:i:

 

"I hate practicing here," said Arthur at the end of their fourth rehearsal. By then, they had run through absolutely everything. Merlin had been hit on the head more times than he could count. Arthur had had two mental breakdowns which resulted in crazy shouting and Merlin trying to wait it out. It hadn't been very nice. If Merlin had to be absolutely honest with himself, Arthur was a bit of a prat.

Okay, Arthur was _a lot_ of a Prat, but that wasn't really important. What _was_ important was the fact that Arthur didn't seem to like half his repertoire at all.

"What's wrong with _here_?" asked Merlin, petting the piano a little defensively.

Arthur shrugged.

"The walls. No air, it's like a coffin."

Merlin looked at all four walls. They were a very nice shade of blue.

"Maybe it's because you're overdosing on Beethoven?" asked Merlin, fishing out his trusty packet of sweets. He picked out a green one and chewed on it thoughtfully. His back was sore from sitting so straight – Arthur didn't like it when he slouched. Actually, he wasn't really sure _what_ Arthur liked.

The violinist turned around at the crinkling sound of plastic wrappers.

"For gods- _why_ are you eating at the piano? Again? How many times do I have to tell you, you'll ruin the keys! You will not be eating when playing my piano. Jesus Christ!"

Merlin frowned at him, clutching the packet protectively.

"I'm not touching anything!" he said indignantly. Just for that, Arthur wasn't going to get any of his gummi bears. And then Merlin's brain caught up with his ears.

"Wait, your piano?"

Arthur picked up his violin case, his music already packed away in the zip-compartment. He shrugged on his jacket, and Merlin thought the contrast between dark material and gold hair was going to give him a seizure.

"You'll come to my studio for future practices. Morgana did," said Arthur rather dismissively. "My piano is much better than this one at any rate."

Merlin felt the first real twinge of annoyance stir inside him, pushing aside the warm fuzzy feeling he got whenever he looked at Arthur for too long. He laid a hand on the piano keys, glaring up at Arthur.

"That's nice a judgemental of you," said Merlin, offended on the piano's behalf. "You don't even play!"

Arthur quirked one eyebrow, and there was the faintest trace of a smirk on his face. It was the closest he had come to smiling in Merlin's presence.

" _Au contraire_ ," he said, setting down his violin case on the floor and striding over to the piano. "Off," he commanded, flicking his index finger like dislodging a fly. Merlin gaped at him, before grudgingly sliding off the end of the stool. He came round to the other side, propping his elbow on the piano lid.

Arthur shook back his sleeves.

/EMBED CONSOLATION #3, LISZT EXTRACT

Arthur played the piano like he played the violin – Merlin didn't need music to know that every note was where it should be, that the rumbling of the bass was precise and articulate, or that the pedel held each note through until the flick of the line. The perfect sound of it all whirled up from the strings, and Merlin stilled as he listened.

Arthur continued, one eyebrow resolutely arched. He didn't even look as if he were concentrating. The notes continued to flow out like a river. Arthur's fingers darted, and the melody rippled from the piano like the waves of water created by a falling pebble. He made the piano shiver and the sensation his playing engendered travelled all the way up Merlin's elbow.

All too abruptly, Arthur stopped.

"There," he said rather smugly. "Liszt."

"I know!" said Merlin, annoyed yet impressed. It wasn't a _nice_ feeling, and he felt himself blushing. It was as if Arthur were saying, _Look, the only reason you're my accompanist is because I can't play two instruments at once._ Merlin huffed inwardly. He would show him. He would.

Arthur drew out a white card and a pen from his top pocket and wrote a line of neat print across its blank centre. He tossed the card to Merlin, who missed the catch and thus had to fish it out of the piano.

Arthur made a _tsk_ sound. Merlin glowered at him, stuffing the card into his pocket without looking at it. He then pushed Arthur bodily off the stool. Unfortunately, Arthur jumped up before he could fall.

"What the-"

Merlin sat in front of the piano and began to play. He played back the Liszt Arthur had been flourishing, letting his fingers run on memory, allowing the octaves to thunder out in a fit of overindulgence.

Then he decided he didn't like that piece particularly, so he changed the melody on the downturn scale, semiquavers morphing into the _other_ Consolation. He could hear Arthur moving away, saying something, probably being contemptuous - but Merlin didn't look up. _That'll show him._ He closed his eyes resolutely so Arthur's face wouldn't distract him like the very distracting thing it was, jaw-lines and frowny when he was playing double stops across the g-

No. _Liszt_.

Merlin got so carried away that, when he next looked up, the room was empty.

:i:

 


	3. THREE

:i:

_"If you hit a wrong note, then make it right by what you play afterwards."_

\- Joe Pass

:i:

 

  
The more he thought about Merlin, the less Arthur got done. In fact, Arthur had come to the conclusion that thinking about Merlin had a distinctly negative impact on absolutely _everything.  
_  
It came down to the way he played the piano, really. All long fingers and half-lidded eyes that made Arthur's concentration falter every time he happened to glance that way – which was at least once every ten seconds because _he_ was the virtuosoand not to mention the professional who was trying to pull it all together and establish one of those telepathic relationships a violinist of his calibre had to have with the idiot at the piano.  
  
Then there was the fact that Merlin didn't seemed fazed by anything. On the contrary, he played what he pleased, trampling over dynamics and articulation like they were road signs. He pulled and pushed the shape of the music like he was trying to recompose it, forcing Arthur to _change_ along with it. His Beethoven sounded nothing like the Beethoven a week ago, and it was All. Merlin's. Fault.  
  
Arthur pulped his orange with a little too much violence, causing one half of the orange to zoom out from under his hand and hit the wall, bouncing off and landing in the sink with a _thud._ Sighing, he retrieved the orange, rinsed it under water (because Arthur was not having sink-water in his orange juice) and resumed the pulping. He imagined that the orange was Merlin's head, and gave it an extra vigorous twist.  
 _What had he been thinking about again?_ Ah. Yes. Merlin was bad for his health.  
He didn't see why the idiot had to _move_ so much when playing anything remotely non-Baroque. In fact, Arthur had once stood outside the door because he was early and had an impeccable sense of timing, and he'd listened to Merlin play Mozart like there was no tomorrow. The notes and phrasing were absolutely _everywhere_. Arthur had watched him for a while through the glass. Merlin's eyes were closed, his head was tilted towards the ceiling, his lips curved into a dorky sort of grin suggesting sunshine and rainbows and ice-cream, and he swayed into the piano each time the right hand ran up the register. Arthur wondered if Merlin took drugs or whether he was just naturally _odd_.  
  
The orange escaped his grip again, and Arthur gave it up as a bad job. Scooping out the pulp with a metal spoon (waste not, want not), Arthur dumped it all in the blender. He threw the orange peel in the bin beside the sink, and wondered if he should do the same to his stupid accompanist.  
  
The blender whirred loudly, sounding like a million badly-played cellos along with a couple of oboes thrown in. Arthur watched the orange blur go round and round and washed his hands in the sink. He washed the spoon, hanging it on its stand with the other spoons of its size – before remembering too late that it was wet and now it had contaminated a previously dry spoon. Arthur made a frustrated sound, taking both spoons from their hooks and wiping them dry on the tea towel.  
  
Merlin. Bad for the brain. Case closed.  
  
And Arthur would wish he had done something about it all when Merlin was forty minutes late for their rehearsal the next day and nearly drove him absolutely crazy with his tardiness.  
  
For now, Arthur drank his orange juice, then went back to practicing Bach.  


:i:

Merlin was forty minutes late.  
  
To be fair, Arthur's flat was very far away and Merlin had never been very good with directions (except the route to the university canteen; that he knew well) and all the bus exchanges and multiple stops made his head dizzy. Then he checked his bag and found that he had either left his inhaler back at the flat or dropped it somewhere. By this time, he was already half way to Darlingpoint (or so the nice lady at the back of the bus told him) and already running a little late.  
  
Or more than a little late.  
  
"Are you mentally ill or just retarded?" exploded Arthur before Merlin could even knock on the door.  
  
"The man downstairs wouldn't let me up!"  
  
Arthur gave him a suspicious look.  
  
"What man?"  
  
"The one in the funny suit."  
  
Arthur looked like he wanted to strangle something. Merlin plastered on his smile and tried to remain out of arms reach.  
  
"Did you show him the card I gave you?" asked Arthur, still a bit red about the ears.  
Merlin fished out the bent business card from his pocket.  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"…"  
  
"He let me up. Why do you have a card anyway? I've been meaning to ask you."  
Arthur caught him by the lapels and forcibly dragged Merlin into the room, shutting the door with a bang. Now that his vision was no longer obstructed by the view that was Arthur's silk shirt and open collar, Merlin could see the room in its entirety. For a moment, he simply stared.  
  
"Shut your mouth, you look ridiculous," said Arthur roughly, moving away to where his violin was nestled in its case. Merlin continued to stare, eyes wide, turning around in a little semi circle where he stood.  
  
Arthur's flat looked nothing like Merlin's own. In fact, if there was ever a continuum of flats-owned-by-musicians, Arthur and Merlin's would be on the opposite ends of the spectrum. Where Merlin's flat was filled with fluffy, awesome, cosy things like beanbags and soft toys and other essentials (e.g. sugar), Arthur's seemed to be primarily filled with empty space.  
  
"Take your shoes off before you put footprints everywhere," instructed Arthur, and Merlin obediently toed off his battered sneakers. Arthur huffed. Merlin walked slowly into the centre of the room, craning his head back to look through the skylight.  
"You're on the top floor!" he said, a little enviousand yet a little exhilarated by the motes of dust sparkling down from the glass.  
  
"Yes. One usually notices that when pushing the _top_ button in the elevator," replied Arthur, sounding peevish. His navy shirt was a dark contrast with the sheer _white_ of the room, white walls, white panel wood, glass coffee tables and a small kitchenette in the corner. Colour was sparse, dotted here and there, a large grand piano dominating the further end of the room. Merlin's finger twitched. He felt out of place, glancing guiltily at his dirty shoes by the door.  
  
Arthur, on the other hand, looked in his element, the violin resting between the dip of his collarbone and neck as he tuned. The sound was languid, unhurried, and the sunlight made his hair glow. Merlin had the sudden urge to pet Arthur's hair, and he wished he had the plushie with him.  
  
"Well?" asked Arthur, jerking Merlin out of his reverie. He had one eyebrow raised, questioning, face framed by the curve of his violin. Merlin nearly died from the sheer rush of emotion that flooded his chest, like too much air yet not breath. He coughed. Then coughed again. Then had to thump himself hard to get rid of the obstructed feeling, hacking up a lung into his closed fist.  
  
"Are you okay?" asked Arthur uncertainly, and Merlin waved his free hand, trying to swallow back the coughing with result that he nearly fell over. He wheezed like a broken toaster for a while, groping in his bag before remembering he had lost his inhaler. _Crap, crap, crap,_ thought Merlin.  
  
After a few moments, the airlessness passed. Merlin sank down onto the piano stool, relieved and tired.  
  
"Here," said Arthur, appearing at Merlin's shoulder. Merlin jumped, turning around – but Arthur was only holding out a glass of water. Merlin took it gratefully, chugging it back.  
  
"Thanks," he said smiling, and Arthur snatched the glass out of his hand before he could set it on top of the piano.  
  
"Well, if you're quite done wasting time, we'll start with the Paganini," said Arthur, putting the glass on a coffee table and retrieving his violin. Merlin wiped his hands on his jeans before lifting the cover off the piano keys. Gold lettering on the face of the piano read _Steinway & __Sons,_ and Merlin snorted because from the little he _did_ know about Arthur, this was so typical.  
  
"A joke I should know about?" asked Arthur, all business and seriousness, and Merlin couldn't help smiling.  
  
"No," he said, pulling Paganini from his bag.  
  
Arthur tightened his bow like a fencer _en garde._ Merlin smiled to himself, and placed his fingers on the keys.  
  
"Where are all your things?" Merlin asked, the second time he came to Arthur's flat for rehearsal. It was raining today and the sunlight filtering through the ceiling was speckled, staining the smooth floor with the echo of water drops. Merlin took care to step on all of them.  
  
Arthur replied with his eyebrow. It was like he didn't know how to speak English or something.  
  
"Just because you live in a dump doesn't mean it's normal," said Arthur, "Someone should introduce you a remarkable invention. It's called a _cupboard_."  
  
This was the first time he had referred to their not-meeting, and Merlin perked up.  
"But where's all your furniture?" asked Merlin, gesturing around at the lonely chair and coffee table. "Where do you sleep?"  
  
Arthur raised both eyebrows.  
  
"This is my _studio._ I live downstairs."  
  
"Oh," said Merlin. Obviously Arthur had two flats. Why hadn't he thought of that before?  
  
"Take my cue around figure C," said Arthur, coming over to the piano. Merlin flipped to the correct page hastily, and Arthur gave him a rather annoyed sort of look. Merlin grinned at him.  
  
"Here," repeated Arthur, circling the bar number with a pencil. It was the only pencil mark on the page, which was clean and spotless. "Don't pull back so much with the arpeggios, it feels like I'm trying to push you up a hill."  
  
"But it feels like it should have more of a," Merlin swayed backwards to illustrate his point, " _rit_. It does!"  
  
"Unfortunately, _Mer_ lin," said Arthur smugly, "What _you_ feel doesn't count. I'm the one who decides how this goes, and you follow me. _Comprenez-vous_?"  
  
"Prat," Merlin muttered underneath his breath, but he shrugged in defeat. He played the phrase leading up to the bar in question, deliberating twirling the melody around his own wrists like ribbon, pulling it up and back like a sigh of accidentals and a sweeping left hand. The piano giggled with it, and Arthur frowned.  
  
"Yes. Exactly not like that," he said sternly before pushing back from the piano and flipping through his own music, partially abandoned on a heavy metal stand.  
  
"Beethoven," he said, making Merlin groan, "Bar 128. I'll give you the upbeat."  
  
Not bothering to open the proper music, Merlin glared at Arthur over the top of the piano and got ready to make things up.

:i:

Despite Arthur's constant complaints and obsessive devotion to detail, there were times in their music that…startled him. Times where the piano crossed the line from accompaniment to intimate, melted into the treble melody like something sweet and warm. It was in the curve of Merlin's back when he played, bowed like a bass clef over the white polished keys, in the way his head was always tilted to the left, listening to Arthur. He had a way of changing little things, expression mostly, so that they deviated from the score. More smooth, more emotional and Arthur couldn't help changing, _felt_ himself changing.  
  
It made him both frustrated and curious at the same time.  
  
He fingered the turtle-shell of his bow, violin rested on his knee as he sat in front of the piano in an odd moment of stillness. He could see the place where Merlin had exhaled over the polished lid, drawing a smiley face in the condensation that somehow left its mark even though Merlin had long since gone home. It was almost dark, sunset an orange glow through the windows. A glance at the clock told him that it was almost six o'clock.  
  
Standing, Arthur went back under the skylight. His fingertips were still grooved from playing too many double stops, artificial harmonics tasting like spun sugar in the air. Like the smell of candy that constantly hung around Merlin's hands. Arthur mentally frowned at himself for allowing himself to become distracted.  
  
He resumed playing.

:i:

The Arthur plushie turned out to be more of an Arthur hand-puppet. Merlin ended up making two templates, stuffing Arthur with cotton until the plushie-puppet was all fleshed out, tummy bulging. It gave Merlin a distinctly grumpy look (he had just finished sewing the eyebrows) as Merlin turned it over to attach the two buttons for Arthur's tail coat. You had just enough room to fit your hand into the puppet, thumb and pinky going into Arthur's arms to move them. Tying off the thread, Merlin fitted the hand-puppet over his own fingers.  
  
Arthur stared back. Arthur waved.  
  
"You're perfect!" said Merlin, grinning. He took Arthur to the piano with him and made him thump out a few muddled notes with his plushie hands. Mozart and Wolfgang chattered loudly behind them. Arthur frowned, eyes disapproving. He seemed to be saying, _you should be practicing. Practicing that Beethoven!_  
"Ugh," said Merlin, but he set Arthur against the music stand on the piano where he could oversee the room. "I'm going to practice, okay?"  
  
Arthur said nothing.  
  
Rolling up his sleeves, Merlin picked a random bar and dived right into it. He played more or less on auto-pilot, taking the sequences at a run and the rumblings with a pinch (okay, handful) of rubato. And he was really getting quite carried away before he looked up and there was Arthur, frowning at him. Merlin stumbled to a stop, fingers careening off the keyboard like a truck off a cliff.  
  
 _You and I both know that was absolutely abysmal._ Said the Arthur plushie. If it had been the real Arthur, he'd be the very image of disapproval with his arms cross in front of his chest. Merlin gulped. Even the budgies had gone quiet with the sudden lapse in music.  
  
 _Do you need me to get out the metronome?_ The plushie threatened.  
  
"Not the metronome!" cried Merlin with such horror that he nearly fell off his stool. The Arthur Plushie only looked at him steadily. Merlin wondered what would happen if he tickled it. Was Arthur ticklish? He couldn't imagine Arthur being ticklish. A squawk from Mozart brought him back to the present. Merlin took a deep breath. He let the beat of crochets tap out through his toes.  
  
He picked another random bar, a pretty one where the violin was all long sustained notes over a piano dialogue, and began practicing. He hummed Arthur's melody over the top of his left hand, the mini-orchestra playing full blast inside his own head, substituting all the rests and sometimes the minims with interesting flute solos.  
  
Merlin closed his eyes, smiling at the thought of Arthur's scandalised expression. His toe tapped out the beat on the pedal, the _une corda_ permanently down since he didn't want Old Man Simmons downstairs to bang on the ceiling with his walking stick. The keyboard shifted left, right, left, right, like the steps of a waltz.  
  
Merlin lost track of time.

 

:i:

"How is everything?"  
  
With Uther, this was not a question. It was a test. Arthur took a slow breath, steadying his hands by his sides. Fingers lax. He consciously uncurled them, even though over the phone, his father could hardly see. Everything was over the phone.  
More distance, same end.  
  
"It's going well," said Arthur.  
  
"Your new accompanist?"  
  
Arthur glanced at his piano. His eyes were drawn to the crease in the red Urtext. That had resulted from Arthur whacking Merlin once too often over the top of the head. _Sonatas. Beethoven_. Arthur couldn't help smiling.  
  
"He's talented, father."  
  
Uther made a non-committal sort of noise, and Arthur could hear the rustle of papers in the background. The sound of a door opening and closing, rush and hush of nonsensical conversations like a flash of colour.  
  
"I want to hear it."  
  
"Will you being coming to the sound-check?"  
  
A pause.  
  
"No, I have to leave for Germany on the 6th."  
  
"Oh," said Arthur, unable to quash a bubble of relief that rose up at this pronouncement.  
  
"I'll make a time. Your technique – what has Ostermann said?"  
  
Arthur winced, the memory of the Melbourne recital still fresh and raw.  
  
"Satisfactory."  
  
"Don't disappoint me."  
  
 _Click._

:i:

When Merlin woke, his face was plastered to the keys and the Arthur Plushie had somehow fallen off the piano onto the keyboard. When Merlin cracked open his eyes, groggy with sleep, he nearly screamed like a girl: Arthur Plushie's grumpy expression was right up close, eyebrows furrowed in a way that said: _YOU'RE LATE MERLIN. LATE. LATE. LATE.  
_  
The way Mozart was sounding, Merlin had forgotten to fill up the food dish before he fell asleep. Peeling his face away from the keyboard and wincing at the bruise-lines that stuck to his face, Merlin stretched, feeling his spine creak from being in an awkward position all night. He made his way to the corner of the room where all the budgie-food was kept and measured out a clumsy cup of birdseed.  
  
"God, you guys are loud," said Merlin, yawning. Mozart swore in a screechy kind of way. Merlin dumped the food into the bowl attached to the side of the cage. He removed the water canister and picked his way across the room to the bathroom, unscrewing the lid as he went. He nearly broke his neck as he stepped on a random sock on the bathroom floor, and only a conveniently placed door handle saved Merlin from landing hard on his back. Running the tap, he tipped the water out of the canister before filling it up with fresh water from the tap. He splashed a little onto his own face before peering at himself in the mirror.  
  
There were five vertical lines on his right cheek, dark red like Merlin had been hit side-long by a barbecue grill. Groaning, Merlin vowed never to sleep on the piano again – it was all Arthur's fault. Arthur and his Beethoven. Now Merlin looked stupid and Will would laugh at him all day and he was _hungry.  
_  
Muttering to himself, Merlin left the bathroom. He had to return again for the canister, which he replaced in the budgie cage. Mozart was already stuffing his face, the stupid bird, and Merlin wondered what budgie mix tasted like. All those nuts.  
  
Carbohydrates.  
  
Time for breakfast!  
  
Rubbing his eyes to clear the last of the sleep away, Merlin clambered over the mini-mountain that was his laundry and bean bag in order to reach a small, battered fridge plugged into the wall. It had been Will's until Will upgraded. Prising open the door of the fridge with a fork (it often got stuck. How, Merlin wasn't sure but it might have something to do with the metallic growth at the bottom of the fridge) Merlin stared at the contents of his fridge.  
  
Or rather the lack of contents.  
  
"Who drank all the strawberry milk?" he asked, horrified. He stared at the space where the cartons of strawberry milk used to stand, gaping. Something like tears prickled at the back of his eyes because he was _sure_ there were at least three cartons left just yesterday! He loved strawberry milk! There was a strawberry milk thief in his apartment building!  
  
Maybe he had simply misplaced it.  
  
Merlin stuck his head into the fridge, shifting a lonely bottle of soy sauce and a clump that looked like it was once a piece of cheese. A tin foil wrapped package that turned out to be a half eaten chunk of garlic bread, which Merlin deemed edible. His milk was nowhere to be seen.  
  
It was going to be a terrible day.  
  
Eyeing the garlic bread doubtfully, Merlin closed the fridge door and went in search of his bag. When he found it, he dug around in the depths of its stomach for his wallet. Flipping it open, he tipped the loose change and solitary ten dollar note onto his lap. Perhaps in lieu of his strawberry milk, he could have caffeine instead…

Arthur Plushie was giving him an extremely unhappy look. It might have had something to do with the fact that it he was upside-down underneath the piano. Guiltily, Merlin rescued him, brushing off stray bits of fluff and other unidentifiable things. His cellphone rang. Shrilly. It was the sound of someone rapping, which meant it was _Will._

It took Merlin five minutes to find his phone.  
  
"Where the hell are you?" Will's voice yelled over the line, almost blowing Merlin's hair sideways with the force of it. Merlin held the phone a safe distance away from his eardrums.  
  
"At home?" he answered, tentatively, "I can't find any strawberry milk."  
  
"What the fuck?" yelled Will, "You were mean to be here, like, two hours ago! That's extreme, even for you!"  
  
"Two hours?" asked Merlin, "what ti-"

"IT"S NEARLY TWELVE, you stupid- _argh_! Just get here, or Gaius will go nuts! We can practice later this afternoon."

"Nearly twelve?" repeated Merlin, looking around the room for his missing alarm clock. Did he own an alarm clock? "Well, no wonder I'm so hungry."

"Do you need me to come pick you up?" asked Will, voice tinny over the cheap cellphone speakers.

"Um, no," said Merlin, now trying to find his watch one handed. He usually kept it in his bag, because he didn't like playing with anything on his wrists, which reminded him that he really needed to drop by the pharmacy for a new inhaler because that was the back-up one he lost yesterday. God, that on top of his strawberry milk.

"I'll see you in five minutes," said Will as if Merlin hadn't answered. And before Merlin could protest, he hung up, the dail tone loud and obnoxious in Merlin's ear.

Merlin sighed, stuffing the phone into his jacket pocket and then stuffing his arms into the sleeves. It got caught half way, as usual, when his thumb went through the hole in the elbow. The hole made a sad rippy sound and grew a little larger. Merlin shoved the rest of his arm through the sleeve, stuffing his music, which was scattered all over the piano, into his bag. He put Arthur Plushie in his bag too, sandwiched between Beethoven and Chopin.

Barely three minutes later, Merlin's phone rang again.

"Hurry up and get your arse down here! I'm double parking!"

Merlin grabbed his bag and tripped over a unicorn plushie on the way to the door.

 

:i:

 

"Did you run into a fence or something?" asked Will on the way to the university. He was driving with his knees which made Merlin really, really nervous because what happened if they had to quickly avoid an old lady crossing the street or a cat or something? It just wasn't safe.  
He clutched his seat belt.

"I fell asleep at the piano," explained Merlin, touching the lines on his face. They still hurt a little.

"Again?" said Will, rolling his eyes (also not a safe thing to do while driving, and Merlin should know – it was dangerous enough walking and rolling your eyes at the same time, not to mention controlling a ton of metal and potential for death.)

"I was practicing for Arthur," said Merlin defensively.

"Merlin, that's what you've been saying for the last ten consecutive DAYS. I've never seen you play pieces more than _twice_."

"Can you please watch the road when you're driving?" pleaded Merlin, rubbing the side of his head; It had banged against the window when Will took a sharp right turn to avoid a red light. They pulled into the university car park, past a couple of art students eating lunch and drinking to-go coffee. Merlin watched them pass with an envious expression on his face. His stomach growled.  
He nearly hit his face on the windscreen when Will stopped the car.

"I don't like this Arthur bloke," said Will, looking suspicious.

"Why?" asked Merlin, surprised. Arthur wasn't all bad. He was just prone to mental break downs and violent Urtext-whacking tendencies. But Will had met Gaius before, so he shouldn't be looking so scandalised.

"Well, for one, you're actually practicing."

"I practice!" protested Merlin, opening the car door. He got stuck.

Helpfully, Will unbuckled his seatbelt.

"Thanks," said Merlin, stepping onto the concrete and pulling his bag after him. "But I practice!"

"No," said Will, "You storm your way through half the syllabus. Then you destroy them."

"Hey, I don't-"

"I'm just sayin," said Will, holding up his palms, "that your recent behaviour has been disturbin- what the fuck is that?"

"What's…?"

Merlin looked down. Will was pointing at the top of Arthur Plushie's head which was peering over the top of Merlin's bag. All you could see was the blond silk hair, grumpy eyebrows and the tip of one arm where it had been squished out of shape by the heavy music. Merlin quickly closed his bag.

"I'll see you at lunch," he said hastily, hugging the bag to his chest.

"Wait a-"

"I'll be late for Gaius!"

 

:i:

 

"Are you supposed to be out of hospital?" asked Arthur, pouring Morgana a glass of fruit smoothie. It filled the room with the fresh scent of blueberries which Arthur secretly loved.

Morgana sat down in a way that was both exasperated and graceful at the same time.

"I've been in that hell hole for over a week," she said dramatically. "I wasn't going to stand for the food."

Arthur snorted.

"I bet Father was happy about that."

"I still have to return for therapies for the foreseeable future," said Morgana, waving her right hand which was bound tightly in a cast. It was white today, which matched her satin dress. Arthur drank the smoothie.

"How's the new…" Morgana wiggled her fingers, "Slave?"

"Terrible," said Arthur, setting down his glass, "But improving. Mind you, it would be hard for him to get any worse."  
Morgana tutted.

"I hope you're not over working him, because not all of us can be as neurotic as you are."

"He tries to change how I play!" exclaimed Arthur indignantly, "Just the other day he told me I was doing it wrong, that the _music_ was wrong and we should pull back far more for the Bach. He also has the most ridiculous notion of wiggling around whenever he plays anything remotely 19th century. It's terrible."

"I feel for you," said Morgana dryly, taking a sip from her own glass. "This is good," she said.  
Arthur grunted.

"Well, I don't see it as such a bad thing."

"What," asked Arthur, the Bach or the wiggling? I swear, his nose – _this_ close to the keyboard. It's a wonder he knows I'm there at all! You never did that."

"Even if I did, you wouldn't be saying anything about it," said Morgana, smirking, "And I meant the Bach. Uther's been a terrible influence on you, growing up. You've managed to inherit a genetic disease. It's called _anal-retentivitis._ "

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"I'm just technically brilliant."

"Yes," said Morgana, tilting her head, "But being technical is your problem, isn't it?"

"Are you saying I should go into playing children favourites? The music for the masses?" scoffed Arthur.

"There's nothing wrong with music for the masses," said Morgana, "It's quite fun."

"Fun won't get you anywhere," said Arthur.

"Whatever," said Morgana, pouring herself another glass. "When do I get to meet him then?"

Arthur frowned.

"Who?"

"Merlin _Emrys,"_ said Morgana, curling the last name around her mouth like something very, very inappropriate. Arthur glared at her.

"Never. Don't want you getting corrupted into his _freestyle_ stupidity when you're my accompanist again."

Morgana laughed.

"From what I've heard, I think he's good for you."

"He makes me want to jump out a window!"

Morgana chased a stray bit of blueberry around her lips.

"Precisely."

 

:i:

 

Gaius gave Merlin a strange look over the top of his glasses. Merlin played with this own fingers, nervously, the last echoes of Chopin's etude still lingering on the ceiling, fading slowly out the window like condensation from a cold evening. Merlin bit his lip.

"You've improved," said the Maestro and Merlin let out a long breath, relieved.

"Really?" he said, grinning.

"Yes," said Gaius slowly, "And you weren't 10 minutes late today. Any more surprises and I'll need a doctor."

Merlin's grin grew by several molars.

"How are your rehearsals for Arthur Pendragon coming along?"

Merlin made a face.

"He thinks I'm useless. Always complaining about me being too lax or something."

"It's a rare opportunity," said Gaius, "To work alongside someone so distinguished."

Merlin nodded.

"I know. And I love his playing it's…it's-" he waved his hands around, "so _perfect_ all the time. Like a recording. He probably has recordings – does he, Gaius? I've never heard him play anything remotely flat or sharp even when we practice he never _ever_ scratches and its' just, I feel like he's performing all the time-"

Merlin cut himself off when he realised he had started to gush. He blushed, embarrassed, but Gaius only gave him an indulgent sort of smile.

"Like I said. A rare opportunity."

"He hits me a lot. With my music," muttered Merlin, still a bit mortified, "And I'd rather listen to him _a capella_. He acts like he's the only person playing, I might as well not be there anyway."

"How many weeks until the concert?"

Merlin let his head drop onto the piano with a thud.  
"Ow," he said, turning to look at Gaius, "A week and three days."

There was a pause.

"A WEEK AND THREE DAYS?" repeated Merlin, checking the calendar on the wall, "Oh my god. He's going to kill me if there's only – Gaius! He says I'm the most incompetent pianist he's ever seen! What am I going to do?"

There was the sound of something being set down on the piano. Slowly Merlin peered up, and then recoiled in horror.

Gaius raised his eyebrows grimly.

It was a metronome.

 

:i:

 

"About crotchet to sixty-five, did you say?" asked Lancelot. Merlin liked Lancelot, especially today. Today, Lancelot had bought him hot tomato soup with a bread roll as well as a turkey sandwich from the canteen. Lancelot was a good friend. That's why Merlin wasn't going to brain him with his music stand for asking about Arthur for the last twenty minutes.

"Yes," he said, instead, chewing through a mouthful of delicious, delicious bread, "eeety 'ive."

He could almost see Lance's brain making a mental note of it. Merlin glowered at him.

"Stop fangirling Pendragon, Lance," said Will, swigging down Coke, "He's a right uptight bastard. Right Merlin?"

"He's not too bad," said Merlin, fairly, being the unbiased one of the two, "You should hear him play _Caprice,_ so amazing. I wish I could play the violin."

"You don't," said Will, "All violinists are jerks."

"Thanks," said Lance, "FYI, you're a violinist too."

"No," said Will, "I'm an _electric_ violinist. A rock violinist. In other words, someone better than you."

"Did you have caffeine today?" Lance asked sweetly. "Because you're being more strange than usual. And by strange I mean absolutely retarded."

"That cut me deep," said Will, grumpy for some reason, "Merlin, tell him off."

"…what?" asked Merlin, coming out of a mental re-listening of Arthur's Paganini, which they had recently rehearsed. It was Merlin's favourite by far, and when he told Arthur, the latter had only grunted, then said something insulting about Merlin's shallow love for showy pieces. 

  
"Nevermind," said Will, scrunching up his can and throwing it in the general direction of the rubbish bin. He missed, and the can bounced off of Freya's head.

_Poor Freya!_

"Will!" said Merlin, poking his friend in the shoulder,."Go pick that up."

"Practice after four?" asked Will instead.

"We've got chamber at four thirty," interjected Lance.

"Shut up, viola player."

"God, it was that one time!"

"Was not, Vye-oh-lah."

"We were missing parts! The orchestra needed more violas!"

"Yeah, like the world needs more African babies," said Will, who had a knack for being politically incorrect.

"I don't like your racism," said Lance, frowning.

"That's okay, I support equal rights for violins on steroids too."

"Guys, shut up," said Merlin, who had finished his soup by now and was feeling strangely ill. Maybe he'd eaten too much in one go?

"I can't even believe we're having this conversation," said Lance with dignity, "Merlin, what do you thin- hey. Merlin?"

"I don't- I think-" Pushing his chair away from the table, Merlin made a dash for the far end of the hall, towards the restrooms. By some miracle he didn't kill anyone in his way or knock over any drinks, and he made it just in time. He banged open the door, stumbling for a sink before he threw up. He felt like someone was squeezing his chest uncomfortably, and there was a pain in his abdomen that refused to go away even after there was nothing left in his stomach. By the time Will came bursting into the bathroom, Merlin was dry heaving, hands fumbling for the tap, searching for water to rinse everything away.

"Shit. _Shit._ Why didn't you say you were feeling sick?"

Will pressed a couple of paper towels into Merlin's hand and Merlin gave him a grateful, if shaky, grin. He hated throwing up; it left him feeling unsteady and a little dizzy. Not to mention hungry again. He wiped his face with the towel, and then rinsed out his mouth again.

"I wasn't. Feeling sick, I mean," he said.

"Merlin, you're _sick._ Did you take your medication last night?"

Merlin scrunched up the paper towel and threw it into the bin, avoiding Will's gaze. He took several deep breaths and felt better, even though he was sure the sink smelled of tomatoes now. Urgh.

"Merlin!" said Will, shoving him hard, "Did you?"

"I forgot, alright? I was practicing my accompaniment stuff and I fell asleep. Then this morning I was in such a rush, I didn't think about it!"

"Jesus Christ," said Will, pulling at his own hair - Merlin felt horrible for the worried expression on his friend's face -"You idiot-"

At that moment, Lance opened the door. He was carrying three bags and two violin cases, which he set down near the wall.

"Hey," he said, looking concerned, "are you okay?"

"Yes," said Merlin.

"Okay? Of course he isn't okay! He just threw his guts up into the sink!" said Will simultaneously.

"Stop being dramatic, I'm fine," said Merlin, taking his bag from Lance. "Thanks."

"You look kind of pale," said Lance, reaching into his own bag and drawing out a waterbottle. "Here."

"You don't want tomato in your water," protested Merlin, but Lance only shook his head and uncapped the bottle for him. Will, in the meantime, was rifling through Merlin's bag. He found the package of nutritional supplement tablets and assorted pills in small bottles and began tipping them into his palm. He forced the brightly coloured tablets into Merlin's hand.

"Take these. Now!"

Merlin did as he was told, downing three tablets at once (He had practice.) . The water tasted so good going down his sore throat that he sculled the entire contents of the bottle before Lance could stop him.

"Maybe you should go home and sleep. Let's veto the chamber music for this afternoon," said Lance. He gave Merlin a reassuring sort of pat on the shoulder, hand warm through Merlin's shirt.

"Where's your inhaler?" exclaimed Will, frightening a guy who had just walked into the bathroom. Merlin frowned and grabbed his bag back from Will, who should _know better_ than to shout about Merlin's things. He hooked the strap over his shoulder and stalked out of the bathroom.

"Merlin!"

"I'm getting a new one."

"Since when?"

Will fell into step beside Merlin while Lance hesitated, frowning.

"Mer-"

"Drop it, Will!" said Merlin, tired. "I just ate a bit too much. I'm fine now."

I like the way you use tired here. It gives it a nice extra beat that conveys the exhaustion Merlin must be feeling, now that he's aware of it.  
Will looked like he had more to say on the matter. But Lance stepped on his foot, and he shut his mouth and shot the latter a black look instead.

"Quartet, four thirty?" asked Merlin, hopefully, "If Freya hasn't dropped out thanks to your coke can, Will."

Will gave him a look that clearly said _this matter isn't over, mate!_ But he nodded and let Merlin escape the canteen in peace.

He needed a piano.

 

:i:

 

Arthur called three extra rehearsals in the next two days. Once, he rang Merlin at eight in the evening.

"We need to run through the concerto," he said, forgoing any sort of greeting. Merlin was on his break, sipping cool water in the employee's room of the _Grande Echelle_.

"Now?" asked Merlin, glancing in the direction of the kitchen. "I'm working right now."

"Well, you're also working for me. Get here by half past."

Arthur hung up before Merlin could get another word in. Merlin stared at his phone in disbelief.

"Prat!" he said to the empty room, stuffing his phone into his pocket. Morgause would kill him if he left in the middle of the evening before his shift was over. The pianist couldn't very well just randomly disappear (not if that pianist wanted to be fed delicious leftovers anyway). He debated going into the kitchens and asking his Morgause if he could leave early so that he could make it in time to Arthur's by nine. But the thought of asking the sous-chef anything whilst she was armed with steak knives was something Merlin really didn't want to experience. Morgause could be very scary when cooking (which she was always doing) and could be even more intimidating when she wanted to be (which she always did). Interrupting her in the middle of rush hour was probably not the smartest thing to do. And Merlin had _some_ sense of self preservation. Arthur, on the other hand, would probably just whack him over the head with music if he didn't turn up. Arthur wouldn't chop him up and use him for as a side dish.  
  
Yes, better not cross Morgause.  
  
"He'll just have to live with it," said Merlin, draining the glass. Pushing open the restroom door, he re-entered the calm atmosphere of the restaurant, breathing in a deep lungful of something that smelt like herb sauce and fish. Merlin's mouth watered and he took the long way around the room in order to find the source of that smell. Perhaps he could have some of that later, if Morgause was in a good mood.  
He settled himself back down in front of the piano, feeling rather pleased for putting the Prat in his place. Something appropriately happy then, something cheerful…something…  
  
With a grin at a passing tray of desserts, Merlin resumed playing.  
  
/EMBED HUNGARIAN RAPSODY.  
  
Merlin had one philosophy about restaurant playing –if you couldn't make the most of glasses and flutes and silverware tinkle-ation, and then the piece was essentially a waste of time. This philosophy often led to discrete taps on the shoulder, usually from a passing waitress who would rely a message from the sous-chef that went something like: IT'S TOO FRENCH.  
  
Since Merlin himself had Irish blood (distantly) and the rhapsody was Hungarian, the mix of the two could hardly be called French (even though the country was sort of in the middle). As the notes twirled about the chair legs and spiralled frantically towards the ceiling, Merlin grinned at reflections in the champagne. He could see the bubbles from here and almost, _almost_ taste them. The first slide was exhilarating, even though he knew the backs of his fingers would suffer for it later, and Merlin threw in a couple more, long, glittering things like the arch of golden syrup.  
  
At some point, he thought his phone might have vibrated in his pocket. But Merlin never stopped playing for anyone, let alone his cellphone, so he barrelled straight into the next piece. It was something he thought he might have heard on the radio, whimsical and light but with a lot less oomph than the _Rhapsody_. He got distracted by the soup of the day, a pale cream yellow with dotted herbs and pepper, which the couple nearest to the piano were enjoying. Merlin felt his mouth water and regressed his left hand down to _alberti_ in order to let his brain concentrate on imagining what dinner might taste like. It looked like onion soup. Perhaps it even had _mushrooms._ Merlin liked mushrooms.  
  
His phone vibrated again.  
  
Merlin made up a sparse, _Carl Vinesque_ melody in his right hand in order to turn his phone off with his left. He continued playing, sweeping all the baguette slices off their plates with Debussy.  


:i:

When Merlin turned his phone back on, an hour later, he found six missed calls and several stern, angry and life-threatening texts from one A. Pendragon.

> _**You're late. You have five minutes to rectify this error.** _

Five minutes later:

> _**Do you have a language barrier? Get here or you're fired.** _

Ten minutes later:

> _**WHERE ARE YOU? I"LL HAVE YOU EXECUTED!** _

Merlin didn't even bother listening to his voice mails, simply dialled Arthur's number. It rang once before being picked up.  
  
" _MER_ -"  


"I was working, you useless prat!" said Merlin, chewing on some leftover panini. He had a half-finished plate of something _steak_ looking because Morgause was in a good mood and had made it for Merlin especially.

"You work for me!" said Arthur, who was clearly in the wrong. Merlin knew about these things. Arthur was just being a spoilt, I-am-famous-and-you're-not so-you'll-do-my-biddingmusician.

"No, I work _with_ you. I was in the middle of a shift."

"I don't care," said Arthur, sounding calm and pissed at the same time. "Get here. You have ten minutes."

"But there isn't a bus that-"

"Fine. Fifteen minutes."

Dial tone.

"Oh, come on!" Merlin said, starting to slam his head onto the table and remembering only at the last minute he would have face planted in soup.

As it was, he got soup on his nose.

"Concentrate on my food when you're eating it, my boy," said Morgause as she passed through the back of the kitchen. "Put that cellphone away."

"Sorry," said Merlin, returning to finish his meal. "It was just someone annoying but important."

"I have thyme, here, left over from your soup. Do you need some?"

Merlin nearly choked on his last spoonful and had to thump himself hard on the back before he could resume breathing.

"No! But thank you!"

Merlin managed to catch the last intercity bus which would drop him off two blocks away from where Arthur lived. It wasn't too cold this time of year, but Merlin hadn't really prepared to be out and about on the streets at nine thirty. The lamplights along Darling Point Road were bright, however, so it wasn't too bad. Merlin loved the glow of lamplights, the way their yellow glow spilled like watered-down apple juice on the pavement, warm and attracting moths that fluttered high above his head. He ran the last few metres, eager to get inside, into the warmth, and nearly smacked into the glass door.

Pulling on the handle, Merlin tumbled inside the foyer with a mini hurricane of spring leaves and newspapers. He gave the clerk behind the desk a wide grin, which was not returned, and hurried to the lifts at the far end of the room. Merlin came so often he never had to tell the clerk who he wanted to see anymore; he would be waved onwards with a surly look.

The lift _dinged_ open, and Merlin stepped inside. He was mentally rehearsing the telling off he was going to give The Prat when the lift reached the 21st story. Elevator music hummed and tinkled from hidden speakers, and Merlin stuck his hands beneath his armpits to warm them up. Practice indeed. Arthur was crazy. Then again, the best artists were, and maybe Merlin could finally convince him to play the Bach for him again even though Arthur didn't believe in going through pieces that didn't require Merlin to work his arms _dead_.

The lift doors opened, and Merlin stepped out into that little random space apartments had before one went into their actual apartment. Or, in this case, studio. Outside Arthur's door, there wasn't the usual pile of shoes you might see outside anyone else's door. Merlin had asked about this earlier, and Arthur had given him a short lecture on how dangerous it was to leave personal possessions lying about and then whacked Merlin on the head for being a distraction.

Merlin wondered if Arthur was on the other side of the door now, fattest Urtext in hand, ready to-

The door burst open.

"Why the hell are you just standing there?" asked Arthur, and Merlin took an instinctive step backwards at the utter craziness of his hair.

"What happened to your hair?" asked Merlin, unable to stop staring. It was messy. Fluffy messy. It made Arthur look like a mad serial killer, but that image probably had more to do with the expression on Arthur's face rather than the state of his hair.

Arthur stepped back, motioning for Merlin to enter. Merlin stood his ground.

"You do realise what time this is? Right?" he asked, accepting that even perfect people had bad hair days and Arthur was just out of luck.

"Yes, I do – unlike some I could mention. You're late!"  
,  
Merlin folded his arms, a gesture he'd learnt from Arthur.

"You can't expect me to just come when called. I'm not a _dog._ "

Arthur tapped one slippered foot on the floor, and Merlin finally conceded, sidling past him into the studio. He put his bag down on the floor, turning around when Arthur closed the door with a _snap_.

"Now that you're here, we can start. I just want to run through-"

But Merlin interrupted him.

"Arthur! You _arse_ , I live an hour away by bus! I'm not at your beck and call. I don't even know how your previous accompanist put up with you! But seriously…"

"Let me put things into perspective for you," said Arthur, eyes wide with sarcasm, "This concert is pivotal for my career. It's probably the biggest accomplishment you'll ever achieve and it is in _one week._ So, yes, I do get to call in extra rehearsals if I feel the need."

Merlin stared at him, stared past the handsome face and jaw line and talent and at the _PRAT PRAT PRAT_ that was filling this violinist up like hot air. He was very aware that the Arthur Plushie's arm was sticking out beneath the cover of his bag, and he resisted the urge to take it out and pummel it.

"You're-" Merlin spun around in a circle because he couldn't find a word big enough to fit the PRATNESS of Arthur's actions, "You're so- _argh_! I could just-"

Then every mental complaint, everything he had thought about saying in return for the whacks over the head and the sharp criticism came bursting out because Merlin's feet were sore from walking on thin soles and he was so _exhausted_ he could barely think straight and he felt like he could only draw half breaths every time be breathed in. Mozart and Wolfgang were at home without their night blanket, and he had to learn the pieces for Lance and his recital.

He ranted.

"…and yes, some of us have to actually work which I'm sure you've never experienced. But there we are, not everyone can be stupid prats, can we? And to top it all off, there isn't a bus after ten o'clock so I'm going to have to WALK home and that's going to take me two hours and we had a practice scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, so why couldn't you have just waited until then?"

There was a rather long silence.

Arthur looked vaguely shell-shocked at Merlin's outburst, and Merlin realised it was probably the most he had ever said to Arthur. Ever. For a moment, Merlin thought he had gone too far. After all this was Arthur Michael Pendragon (Merlin _did_ have access to Google. Sort of.), and he was probably going to be tossed out right here, right now. He couldn't place the expression cycling through Arthur's face, surprise, indignant…was that a smile? No; Merlin needed glasses.

Then the prat said, "Why don't you just call a taxi, if you don't have a car?"

Merlin's hand met his face.

"Because I can't afford a taxi, okay?"

"What?" said Arthur, like he had never heard the word 'can't' before. Which he probably hadn't, the stupid, studio-owning, car-driving, juice-drinking prat.

"Nevermind," said Merlin, shoulders slumping. He rubbed his right eye vigorously with his fist, not bothering to stifle a yawn. "Let's get this over and done with, then. I'm making it up though, haven't got music with me."

Arthur didn't reply immediately, still giving Merlin an appraising sort of gaze. Eventually, he moved towards the solitary bookshelf and pulled off several new-smelling books.

"I've got a copy," he said, sliding them across the piano. He took his violin from where it rested in its case, not even tightening the bow, which meant he had been practicing. Typical.

Merlin sat down at the piano, running a chromatic down the keys as a greeting.

"The third movement," said Arthur. "I had a memory lapse earlier today, probably because you've been playing something different every time we rehearse. I want to settle that today."

Merlin shrugged. When he put his feet on the pedals, he realised he still had his shoes on. He gave Arthur a sideways glance, but Arthur didn't seem to notice, tuning with closed eyes. Merlin waited, already familiar with Arthur's habits, his cues – a breath. A lift.

Music came.

 

:i:

 

Hunith sold her sewing machine and a set of china to buy Merlin a piano. Merlin was only eight and didn't really know the cost of things, but he did know that the piano was the best thing any boy could receive for his birthday. It was an old upright, chipped around the wheels, the keys slightly yellow. The gold lettering had faded, until it read "AMAHA" and there was a B flat that always got stuck when you played hit it too hard.  
Nevertheless, Merlin named his piano "Albert" (after the stray cat that he adopted the summer previously) and played it three times a day religiously, once before breakfast, once after lunch and another after dinner. These sessions lasted a good few hours, despite Merlin not knowing any real pieces, and the Emrys house was always full of music. Often Merlin would play whatever he heard on the radio, on the bus from school and, once, a whistled tune. He preferred to spend his afternoons in the living room, trying out combinations and sounds like one tried different dipping for crackers (Merlin loved crackers almost as much as he loved Albert). His school work suffered. His sums never quite added up, left unfinished on the floor whilst Merlin played through his first book of Minuets. A month later, Hunith was running out of money for CDs, and Merlin was running out of fingers for Bach.

"Maybe it's time to get you a teacher, sweetie," said his mother.

Merlin only grinned, because there was a cookie in his hand, chicken in the oven and everything with the world was perfect.

 

:i:

 

By the time Arthur was satisfied, it was almost eleven. Merlin felt dead, his feet slipping on the pedals as he glared at Arthur over the rim of the piano. He played a descending chromatic, which was meant to sound foreboding but just petered out in a sad sort of way.

"Are we done?" asked Merlin, chin propped on the piano lid. As an afterthought, he added, "I'm hungry."

"Yes," said Arthur pleasantly.

"Oh, good."

"It was."

Merlin gave him a surprised sort of blink. First compliment.

Arthur was looking a lot less panicky than an hour ago. In fact, he was looking positively pleased with himself, a satisfied sort of quirk to his non-expression, and he was cleaning his violin with a silk cloth. His hands moved deftly, surely, wiping the white mist of rosin around the bridge and the stains on the fingerboard. It was a hypnotic sort of motion, which was in danger of putting Merlin to sleep. Arthur loosened his bow and tucked his instrument into its case. _Click, click._

Merlin watched as Arthur grabbed a jacket off the back of a chair, shrugging into it. Metallic somethings chinked in the pockets as Arthur adjusted his sleeves. When Merlin didn't move, Arthur half-turned. He really had a lovely profile. It was just like life to deceive Merlin in such a way. He would have never fallen for Arthur if Arthur hadn't been so good with his spiccatos and Nocturnes and Aesthetically Pleasingness. But, inside, he was a Prat who was going to make Merlin walk home at night. It was like false advertising.

"Well?" said The Prat, "Are you coming or not?"

Merlin rubbed his eyes.

"What?"

"Come on. I'm giving you a ride home."

"A ride home?" Merlin looked up, surprised.

"That's what I just said. Now hurry up."

Nearly knocking over the piano stool in his haste, Merlin grabbed his bag from where it had been abandoned on the floor and took after Arthur, who was already pushing the button for the elevator.

"You'll have to give me directions. I'm not really familiar."

Merlin shifted his bag more comfortably on his shoulder and followed Arthur into the lift. Elevator music trickled down the walls like brain-washing, synthetic propaganda. Merlin didn't like it.

"…directions?"

"Yes. To – your – flat."

Arthur was giving him a funny sort of look, as if he wasn't quite sure where his eyebrows should be situated on face. He looked half-amused and half-exasperated. At least he wasn't half-crazy, like he'd been earlier. You had to count your blessings in a world which only sold strawberry milk in six-packs, Merlin knew.

"I'm tired," said Merlin defensively and proved it by nearly falling out of the lift and onto the floor. Arthur caught him by the elbow and hauled him upright.

"Please don't break your neck, or worse, your fingers," said Arthur. "One week, remember?"

"How can I forget? It's the reason I'm not sleeping right now," muttered Merlin darkly, following Arthur through a maze of yellow and white lines until they reached a sleek black car. Arthur would have a black car, thought Merlin dryly; he probably thought black was a colour too.  
The car made a strange car sound (like the kind a dog makes when it's reunited with its owner) and two orange lights flashed once when Arthur unlocked the car remotely.

"Come on, it won't bite," he said, opening the driver's door and sliding in. Merlin hesitated before opening the passenger side and shoving his bag on the floor. As he fumbled for his seatbelt, Arthur shoved the key into the ignition, and the car engine rumbled into life. Piano music – Chopin – began playing as the dashboard lit up.

To Merlin's relief, Arthur put on his seatbelt and did not zoom around the corner like Will did.

It was strange, this: sitting in Arthur's car, with Arthur not grumpy and Arthur not hitting him over the head with anything. In fact, there had been suspiciously little abuse tonight, even when Merlin had done a little test and pushed the tempo way too fast at the end of the third movement. Maybe Arthur was more accommodating when the sun went down. Or maybe he just felt better after shouting at Merlin for being late, and all his grumpiness and Obsessive Compulsive habits had been shocked out of him when Merlin shouted _back._ Settling back into his comfortable seat, Merlin tucked this piece of information away for future reference.

"You could have just given me money for a taxi," said Merlin, breaking the comfortable silence. Arthur glanced at him.

"Petrol is cheaper," he said, "And I highly doubt you have the ability to get home sa- _competently._ Even with someone else driving."

"You're driving," Merlin pointed out.

"I'm exceptional," said Arthur smugly.

Merlin kicked the Arthur plushie in his bag surreptitiously. On the CD player, Chopin switched to Vivaldi; a sudden shift in atmosphere. It matched the colour of streetlamps and shop window displays, distorted through the tint of the window. Everything rushed by so fast, Merlin felt as if he had fallen into Debussy, where everything was fourths and impressions. He wondered if Arthur noticed these things or whether his car was just a means of transport. Probably the latter. Merlin's car deprivation gave him a unique outlook on life, and he felt that he was a better person for it.

Or he really wanted a car.

"Turn here?" asked Arthur.

Merlin peered out into the darkness and shrugged. Arthur huffed an exhale of breath. Merlin smiled for no good reason.  
They drove on like this, side by side, Merlin watching the lights go by and Arthur watching the road. Perhaps he shouldn't hold grudges. It wasn't Arthur's fault that he suffered from nervous breakdowns and needed a pianist to hold his hand. All violinists were a bit high strung or so Gaius often said.

"Thanks," said Merlin. "For giving me a ride home, that is."

Arthur gave him a second glance. Then his eyes went back to the road.

"You're welcome."

Merlin went back to staring out the window. They were nearly there. Merlin was starting to recognise some of the buildings, the café with the striped curtains, the bar which was still all lit up, conversations, alcohol and light spilling out from it onto the pavement. Arthur had probably gotten drunk at this bar that night he passed out on Merlin's front step. Prats couldn't hold their alcohol. Even Aesthetically Pleasing Prats. It made Merlin feel a little better, the memory of Arthur drooling on his beanbag. It was so far from the composed, controlled virtuoso sitting beside him now; Merlin couldn't help a snort of laughter.

Arthur pulled over, parked by the pavement. The engine idled.

It was a moment before Merlin realised he was supposed to get out. Groping for the strap of his bag, he opened the car door and got out of the car. Arthur's features were a sharp silhouette against the car window, face angled towards Merlin, who still had one hand on the door.

"See you tomorrow?"

"Don't be late," said Arthur. Merlin shut the car door. He watched Arthur pull away from the curb, the black car disappearing quickly into the night.

It turned a corner, and was gone.

Hefting his bag onto his shoulder, Merlin smiled to himself.

 

:i:

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

**:i:**

_**How you play a note is just as important as what the note is.** _

\- Henry Kaiser

 

:i:

It was the second time in as many days that Merlin woke to find himself plastered to the piano keys, Arthur Plushie glaring down at him from the music stand. Judging by the light streaming through the unclosed curtains, it was way past noon and Merlin could feel his stomach cramp a little from hunger. To be honest, he couldn't quite remember when he had last eaten. He was just about to see how many dollars he could find under the mattress, and if that might buy him something tasty from the chip shop on the corner, when someone knocked on the door. Then opened it before Merlin could even sit up.

"Oi."

It was Will.

Will, who had gotten Merlin three packs of strawberry flavoured milk, the ones that actually taste good, was standing in the doorway like the Awesome Person he was. Merlin recognised the red and pink cartons through the plastic bag as soon as Will opened the door, and he leapt up.

"Oh my – yay!" exclaimed Merlin, making grabby hands for the bulging Tesco bag. Will swung them out of reach, side stepping Merlin into the room. The budgies were going crazy with all the excitement, taking Merlin's cry of joy as a cry of food – which was usually an accurate assumption when it came to Merlin.

"It's a mess in here," said Will, rather unnecessarily.

Merlin tackled him in order to grab the plastic bag. They ended up sprawled all over one of the bean bags, Merlin clutching the cartons and making a mad dash for the fridge.

"You are my best friend," he said happily, opening one of the small cartons and ripping off the straw attached. He took a long sip, the flavour sweet and absolutely delicious on his tongue. Within five seconds flat, the carton was empty and Merlin was folding it methodically to make sure he hadn't missed anything.

Will stared.

"Is that a new time record?" he asked, as Merlin hiccupped strawberry flavoured bubbles. Then coughed; milk had somehow gone up his nose. He sneezed.

"No," said Merlin cheerfully, reaching for another carton, "Two point five six seconds."

"You're going to choke to death, one day. And stop drinking all of them in one go, I didn't buy them for you just so I'd have to buy more tomorrow, scammer."

There was a moment of pause as Merlin slurped strawberry milk with relish.

"You didn't turn up for classes yesterday," said Will, "When were you into wagging?"

"I forgot about them," said Merlin, truthfully.

"You forgot."

Merlin nodded, biting on the straw between his teeth.

"You have class every Tuesday afternoon, with Matt and Co. How did you forget? Did you fall asleep? Again."

"No," said Merlin indignantly, "I was practicing at Arthur's. For the concert."

Will's eyes narrowed. Merlin remained deliberately oblivious.

"Actually, the sound-check is in an hour. So I was leaving soon," Merlin lied. "If I'm late, Arthur will probably-"

"Kill you," finished Will, rolling his eyes. "I know. I thought you might have dropped dead or something since you never turned up this morning for quartet, so I came around. Want a ride there?"

Merlin beamed.

 

 

:i:

They got to the concert hall fifteen minutes early, thanks to Will's crazy driving. Merlin could feel his teeth rattling around in his skull as he stepped shakily out of the battered old Mitsubishi. He had to make two attempts at lifting his bag, his gloved fingers a little sore from gripping the door.

"I think we go through here," said Merlin, trying to recall Arthur's directions as they trudged around the car-park and towards the large ornamental fountain that stood to the side of the main entrance. He led Will to the side and around the back of the building until they reached the backstage entrance. Merlin tried to push the door open, but it wouldn't budge.

Will sighed and pulled the handle, and they stepped into what looked like a small lobby, which was manned by a lady behind a large wooden desk. She looked up as they entered and eyed them up and down.

"I'm sorry, but no visitors are allowed through here," she said, standing up.

"I'm not- um, I'm Arthur Pendragon's accompanist…?" said Merlin a little nervously. He clutched Arthur Plushie inside his bag for reassurance.

The woman's expression cleared, and she actually smiled.

"Ah. Mr Emrys, is it? Yes – you're down on the list. Please sign in here-" she pushed a leather bound book towards Merlin, offering a pen which Merlin took, then promptly dropped on the floor.

"Sorry," he said, taking his glove off and retrieving the pen. Will laughed unhelpfully as Merlin signed beneath someone named "Eric Schultz" on the register.

The lady raised two perfectly pencilled eyebrows at Will.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you are…?"

"I'm-"

"He's my page turner," said Merlin quickly.

"Well, please sign in as well." She turned back to Merlin. "Mr. Emrys, your dressing room is G.2, just down the hallway to your left. Mr. Pendragon is already on stage, I think."

"Thank you!" said Merlin before tugging Will through a next set of double doors and into a wide, well-lit hallway. As soon as the doors swung shut, Will said, "Page turner! Fuck that. And why do you get a bloody dressing room?"

"It's because I'm special," said Merlin sweetly, though he was slightly daunted by the prospect. It slotted things into perspective – not that Merlin hadn't been in a dressing room before, he had. But he had never been in one outside of the university performing centres and had always shared with other musicians. Having a room to yourself meant the possibility of sitting in a room by yourself and that was just boredom and anxiety on a silver platter. Merlin gulped.

On the door, there was a piece of paper with _Merlin Emrys_ written in tidy black sharpie. Will pushed the door open to reveal a square room with pale, pea-green walls, one of those mirrors with lightbulbs all around the edges, two music stands, several comfortable chairs, a bowl of mints, a television screen on the wall and a jug full of water and lemons. Never let it be said that Merlin wasn't observant.

Will dumped his coat on the back of one of the chairs, and Merlin set his bag down on the table, flicking on the mirror lights.

"I always liked these," he said idly, turning them off again. He pocketed a handful of mints, popping one into his mouth. Will, like the rude person he was, unzipped Merlin's bag and pulled out the music. He paused, and Merlin froze in mid-crunch.

Will drew out Arthur Plushie.

"What the _hell_ is- is-"

Arthur Plushie was upside down and looking grumpier for it. His tail coat was hanging with gravity, his hair a little fluff of yellow silk. Will was holding him by one leg, and Merlin felt a blush creeping up his neck, his ears growing hot. He tried to snatch Arthur Plushie back, but Will held it out of Merlin's reach, the better to squish it between thumb and forefinger.

"Tell me it's not…Jesus. Jesus Christ, mate, don't tell me you've gone and fallen for-"

Will looked vaguely ill. Merlin grabbed his arm and snatched Arthur Plushie back, stuffing him unceremoniously into his bag once more.

"That is disturbing-"

"Shut up!"

"I hope that's a voodoo doll you stick pins into, Merl, because otherwise I'm going to-" Will seemed to be having trouble finding the words to express the extent of his disgust for Arthur Plushie. Merlin bristled defensively, but concentrated on zipping up his bag.

"Shut up, shut up," he said, pilling the music into his arms and stalking out of the room.

After getting lost twice, Merlin finally found his way into the auditorium. He emerged from a wooden panelled door, camouflaged into the wall, almost falling over a row of deep velvet seats because he was too busy blinking in the darkness. Even though the wings of the stage were huge in comparison to the university ones, the sheer height of the auditorium ceiling took Merlin's breath away. The house lights were dimmed, the sweeping stage lit from above so it formed a large, hazy spot light where Arthur stood.

He was playing the Partita.

/EMBEDD BACH PARTITIA

It was like watching someone paint on silence. The purity of it rooted Merlin to the ground, drowned him so he had trouble breathing for a moment _._ It was like being suspended in a bubble, where nothing existed except the next note and the next pull of heart string over the fading echoes of the last phrase. Arthur was a solitary figure on the wide, empty stage. Even from here, Merlin could see that his eyes were closed, a furrow between his brows as he played. He barely moved, a white halo above his head from the angled white-lights, making him…making him…

Merlin thought it was what love sounded like, and felt his heart swell unbearably.

There was a sudden change in the air as some technician turned on the microphones, and Merlin started, almost dropping all his music onto the carpet. When Will spoke, voice far too loud in the hush, Merlin almost face planted on the floor in surprise. Arthur's playing had wiped all thought from his brain.

"What are you standing here for?" asked Will, collapsing into one of the chairs. Merlin made a 'shhhh!' gesture and Will snorted _._ He muttered something that sounded like _Fucking_ _Puritans,_ but Merlin wasn't listening.

"He's amazing, isn't he?" said Merlin, almost to himself.

It prompted another inappropriate reply from Will. Merlin ignored him. Arthur had finished, violin and bow held in one hand as he crossed the stage. Belatedly, Merlin realised he had been spotted, and hurried forwards, clambering ungracefully onto the stage.

"You're almost not late," said Arthur, raising both eyebrows in greeting. "I'm impressed."

Merlin grinned.

"We won't be running through the full programme. Just enough for you to get a feel for the piano and the sound guys to make sure nothing blows up tomorrow night."

The grand piano was glossy black, reflecting all the lights rigged in the ceiling of the stage. Merlin was already adjusting the height of the seat before Arthur finished speaking. He could see the spiky hair that was Will, sprawled, a dot of messy clothing in a sea of empty seats. Merlin looked at his own sneakers a little guiltily.

Arthur, by contrast, was immaculate – his usual blazer was no where to be seen, but he was wearing his uniform of pressed dress pants and a shirt. It was blue again, navy, which contrasted with the exposed skin at his collar. All in all, Merlin thought Arthur shouldn't dress so distractingly.

"…you been listening?"

Merlin blinked.

Arthur sighed, but did commit his usual acts of violence. Instead, he just said, "Beethoven."

Merlin nodded, setting his hands on the keys. The pedals were higher than what he was used to, and he pushed his seat back, wincing at the sound it made on the stage floor. Arthur gave him a sidelong glare, before closing his eyes.

A lift.

A breath.

They cycled through half the programme at a rapid pace, Arthur stopping and starting to switch to new pieces in the repertoire. Merlin played also, his music long forgotten, and Arthur got a kind of thrill, diving into something and knowing that Merlin could instantly follow. It was like Merlin could read his mind, sometimes.

He had just become relaxed enough to work up his vibrato to something he had never tried before when a sharp, familiar voice cut through the space of the auditorium.

"Stop fooling around and play the concerto, Arthur."

At the piano, Merlin froze, skittering back from the keys in surprise. Arthur lowered his violin. Uther Pendragon was walking towards them between the aisles.

"Father," said Arthur, unable to keep the surprise out of his own voice, "I thought you were leaving for Germany!"

Uther waved a hand, dismissive.

A pause, laden with disapproval.

"Continue."

Arthur glanced at Merlin, who was staring at Uther unsubtly, doe eyes opened as wide as they would go. He looked like an idiot, and it was another long moment before Arthur managed to catch his eye. Merlin gave him a sheepish sort of grin, cocking his head to one side like a parrot. Arthur swallowed, mouth dry.

"The Liszt."

Merlin nodded.

Arthur lifted the violin into position, trying to shake the feeling of his Father's imminent disapproval. He glanced at Merlin, who offered him a truly spectacular grin. He looked away again. It was Merlin who began this piece, began with a steady press of notes that was like the pulse of a heartbeat and Arthur closed his eyes. As they had practiced countless times, Arthur brought the bow down.

It was hard – Arthur never played his best when under Uther's presence and he focused on the floor, on Merlin, on the backs of his eyelids. He could hear every lesson that had been drilled into him since four, _easy there, arch for the -_

In no time at all, the movement had come to a close. But when Arthur cast his eyes about the auditorium, his father had already left.

 

 

:i:

Merlin had never felt so nervous in his life. _In his life._ His brief un-meeting with The Uther Pendragon had made the entire situation seem much less "important concert" and more "life or death". Merlin had taken a bus to Arthur's place, as usual, and after an unproductive afternoon of Arthur being annoying and Merlin being hungry (he had skipped lunch in order to be on time), night was dawning.

"Show me what you're wearing," said Arthur, twenty minutes before they were due to leave for the venue. Merlin spotted the way his fingers were twitching at his sides, a sure sign of impending doom.

"It's a suit," said Merlin, "I'll get changed once we get there."

Arthur eyed Merlin's current clothing (jeans, jersey, half a glove, neckerchief) with a highly doubtful look.

"No," he insisted, "I want to check. Where is it?"

Merlin pointed at his bulging bag.

"You stuffed a suit in your- God, you're useless."

Merlin frowned, and went to pull out his folded/crumpled suit from his bag, careful not to expose Arthur Plushie who was buried beneath all the black material. He shook out the jacket and dark blue tie. Arthur whacked him over the head.

"Ow!"

"Merlin, what the hell were you thinking?" shouted Arthur in sheer horror, all composure seemingly going out the window. "Look at these creases! _Creases_!"

:i:

They made it to the concert hall in one piece, Merlin's jacket steam ironed ("It'll ruin the material but it's all your fault anyway, don't complain." – "But I didn't say any-" – "Be quiet!") and his trousers replaced with a pair of Arthur's dress pants. Merlin was sure that Arthur would have replaced his head too if he'd had enough time.

Now, Merlin quickly discovered why he had been given his own dressing room. He sat in one of the chairs, too jittery to stay still for more than thirty seconds at a time. He found himself flicking through music, checking the Post-It notes and the tabs and mentally humming all of Arthur's habits through his head like awell memorised score. He wondered if Arthur was wearing down the carpet in the next room; Arthur seemed like the sort of person who would pace. In fact, now that he was listening for it, Merlin could almost hear the pacing from here…

The live feed on the television screen showed a darkened and empty stage, occupied only by a grand piano, which was set slightly to the left. You could hear the sound of the audience coming into the auditorium through the microphones, the rise and fall of chatter that indicated a full house. Maybe it was just a half house, thought Merlin hopefully, because the stage looked really quite big on the screen. He should go see how Arthur was doing.

Stacking all his music into one pile, Merlin poked his head out of his dressing room. Tentatively, he stepped out into the hallway and went to peer through Arthur's door. Through the crack, there came the muffled sound of a violin being played,. Merlin knocked.

The violin stopped. There was the sound of something being knocked over, and before Merlin could run away, the door flew open. There was Arthur, eyes a little wild.

"What do you want?" he demanded. Merlin blinked and gave what he hoped was a placating sort of smile.

"Nothing."

Arthur slammed the door shut.

"Um," said Merlin. The violin started up again. After another awkward moment of not knowing what to do, Merlin retreated back to his own dressing room. Yes. This was why he had been given a dressing room the size of his flat. Arthur was probably feeling homicidal right now.

Merlin chewed on the inside of his cheek as he closed the door behind him and poured himself a glass of water. There was a tight, constricted feeling in his chest even though he had downed his antibiotics with strawberry milk. Perhaps it was nerves or butterflies or _something_ because Merlin's stomach gave an enormous growl. He drank some more water, and it helped with the dryness in his throat but not the light-headedness.

He took out Arthur Plushie and gave it a tight squeezing hug for reassurance. He had accidently spilt strawberry milk on Arthur Plushie's left foot the other day, and now it smelt like flavour. Merlin put the plushie back in his bag carefully.

It was all Arthur's fault. Merlin could not remember being nervous for any of his recitals before. Granted, all of them were performed at the university and weren't as formal as this, but there was still no need for Arthur to work himself (and Merlin) up to such a state. There was certainly no need for separate dressing rooms.

Merlin stared at the screen.

:i:

"You know," whispered Merlin, "you're kind of brilliant."

It was dark backstage, and Merlin could barely make out Arthur's profile in the dim glow of floor lights. His back was ramrod straight, expression hidden by shadows. He didn't reply, but Merlin could see the tense lines of his shoulders ease a little.

"So you'll be amazing, right?"

No answer. Someone was introducing Arthur on stage, but Merlin couldn't hear what they were saying. He shuffled closer to Arthur and breathed in his cologne. It smelt nice.

"You're not nervous, are you?"

Silence.

"Do you want a hug?"

Arthur half turned to him, eyes glinting, mouth a flat slash with a quirk to the side. It could have been a trick of light, but Merlin thought Arthur gave him a brief smile. They were close enough that Merlin could almost hear the music. Arthur turned back, getting ready to enter the stage.

"No," said Arthur, and strode forwards. The applause swelled like a crescendo. Merlin counted to ten, and then followed Arthur onto the stage.

 

 

:i:

Arthur looks magnificent on stage.

The audience, the hall, the rest of the _world_ is a sea of black in the face of the stage lights, bright in Merlin's eyes. But he can see Arthur perfectly, the way his shoulders are a defined line beneath his red shirt, the way he stands facing the hush of black like someone who knows and has the power of their attention in his hands. His hair is aglow, almost too bright to look at. When he turns to look at Merlin, his profile is sharp as accidentals on a score, eyelashes a blur like harmonics. Merlin plays an A, and it comes out clear – like a stone dropped in a deep, deep pool. Arthur's eyes are the same colour.

Distantly, someone rustles, and then is still. Like the forest that is holding its breath, the hall was silent, silent –

Arthur's head tilts a fraction to the left. His shoulders tense, and the bow is balanced like sword in his hand. Merlin places his hands on the keyboard, cool to the touch – he watches Arthur like the audience watch him, with a beating heart and shortness of breath.

Lift.

Breathe.

And this, _this_ reminds Merlin why musical dialogue was always that much more beautiful than playing alone.

 

  
:i:

"Oh my god, Arthur!" exclaimed Merlin, barely able to contain his excitement. This time, he _did_ fall over and all the music went sprawling across the floor. Arthur was taking deep breaths as if he had just run a marathon, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, his hair slightly mussed. Merlin picked himself up off the floor and tackled Arthur into the greenroom door, which promptly burst open, and they fell into it.

"What the- Merlin!" said Arthur. He tried to push Merlin away, but Merlin only gave him another hug.

"That was awesome- that was better than –"

Arthur extricated himself from Merlin's hug and held him at arm's length, both eyebrows raised.

"It's only half time, you idiot," he said, but Merlin could tell he was pleased. In a I-am-a-professional-and-thus-have-no-facial-expression sort of way, but Merlin could still tell.

"Are you going to do the encore?" asked Merlin. "You're going to do the encore, right?"

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, averting his eyes.

"Perhaps."

"Let's do the Rach. Say we're doing the Rach, Arthur. Say it. _Say it_."

Arthur glared at him. "You have far too much energy, Merlin," he said. "Calm down, alright?"

But Merlin was far too buzzed to calm down; his head felt like it was floating off into the clouds. The sound of the violin was still running through his head, and he was already itching to get back to it, back to the piano and back to the warmth of stage lights on his face. He could almost _taste_ -

Arthur gripped him by the shoulders to stop his on-the-spot bouncing.

"I need you to focus," he said sternly. " _Focus_."

Merlin nodded, trying to look suitably serious and failing miserably. He went to hug Arthur again. But Arthur managed some sort of four-step manoeuvre, and the next moment, Merlin found himself alone in the green room.

A large vending machine hummed in a corner, while the television screen on the wall showed an auditorium, half full. How many minutes had it been? Merlin felt giddy with it, the music bubbling up inside him even with no piano in sight.

 

  
:i:

It was this exhilaration, still coursing through him from the first half of the concert, that made Merlin too happy, too distracted, too sure of himself. It filled his lungs with oxygen, yet made Merlin feel as if he was going to pass out with the lack of air, the collective hush of breath before infinite first notes. And every musician knows that when emotions overwhelmed composure, all of your bad habits came crashing back.

His attention was completely riveted on the violinist, center-stage. Once or twice, he remembered about metronomes and Urtexts and long practices in the afternoon, and he pulled back the tempo with a half guilty glance at Arthur. But Merlin couldn't help himself. The piano sounded so lovely beneath the violin he was having trouble remembering what came next, letting his fingers take him via memory, one chord modulating into another like seasons rushing past.

In the end, it was Merlin's fault that everything went horribly, terribly wrong.

It was the last piece – was it?- the _Caprice_ that was both flair and intensity and Merlin loved watching Arthur play it because it was the only piece Arthur seemed to genuinely _like._ He lost some of the tension half way through and would _play with_ the violin rather than just _playing_ it. As it was, it was by far the easiest accompaniment of the entire repertoire which probably explained why Merlin stopped in mid-flow.

He often got bouts of conscious babbling in his head whilst on stage – usually when he was playing solo – and Merlin always had to direct these thoughts _away_ from things like this: "Oh, here comes the part after the left hand goes – I always have to skip the F# since it's such a…oh, pinky don't fail me now, don't fail me now don't- oh shit-" because more often than not, it happened when you though it (note bene for musicians, number 82.) This time, Merlin remembered the _whack_ that would accompany his improvisations because it was a bloody strain to reach that note and it sounded the same either way and these thoughts all snowballed into each other whilst Arthur reached the climax, and Merlin thought, "Ouch! Okay, here is the bit when—"

Then his left hand mistepped, and there was a sudden, overwhelming blank in his mind.

He was aware of Arthur's eyes snapping open, darting to his pianist who was momentarily frozen at the keys. Merlin didn't know whether exactly how long he faltered, time elastic as a burn of panic clawed his way up his throat, and all he could think about was _don'tcoughdon'tcountbreathebreathebreathe-_

He forcibly tried to re-enter, and, suddenly, the violin was recognisable again because Arthur had doubled back to the start of the last theme. Then Merlin was improvising, relying on the sound and muscle memory and trying to keep his heart calm, just to the end, just to the end, they were nearly there.

The flourish of the violin ended, the sound echoed in the sliver of silence. Then, polite applause, a soft wave of it amidst audible whispers. They were blinded by the stage lights, and all Merlin could see was Arthur, staring into a sea of matte black. He bowed, brief and stiff, before turning and striding off the stage. Merlin stumbled to follow.

By the time he emerged from the wings, Arthur was nowhere in sight.

Merlin began to run, crashing into and through doorways, past the greenroom and into the hallway. His breathing was shallow, stuck in his chest, and he had to cough harshly once, twice, three times before he could draw in his next intake of air. Arthur's dressing room door blurred in front of his eyes, and Merlin didn't know whether it was tears or something else. He didn't knock, only pushed open the door tentatively. It had been left ajar.

Arthur was pulling on his overcoat, violin already packed and slung over one shoulder. When he saw Merlin, he schooled his face into a blank, indifferent expression. Merlin swallowed, wringing his hands.

"Look, I'm so sorry-"

"Get out." Arthur's voice was flat and hard, brooking no argument. Merlin tried to meet his eyes, but Arthur was staring at a point beyond Merlin's shoulder. There was no air in the room.

"I just wanted to say-"

"Just get out!" The shout burst out of Arthur, harsh like a slap to the face, and Merlin jerked backwards. "Haven't you done enough damage tonight?"

He opened his mouth to apologise, to saying something that would wipe that disappointment and anger off Arthur's face but his words wouldn't come. He only stood, unsure and unwilling to leave, trapped in the doorway. Arthur made a strange sound, half laughter, half derision. He strode forwards, pushing past Merlin and out the door without a backwards glance.

Merlin went back to his own dressing room; it took him barely five steps. His bag was still sitting on the chair, the half full jug still on the table. The lemon had partly disintegrated, floating in the water. The stage on the television screen was empty, the houselights on, and the auditorium more or less deserted.

Merlin didn't know how long he stood there, back to the door. Distractedly, he remembered that Arthur had left, and now he didn't have a ride home. Oh. He hoped there was change in his wallet. He hoped he brought his wallet.

Merlin's fingers felt numb. Why was lightheaded-ness called lightheaded-ness? He felt more as if he had been submerged in a bubble, his vision wavering slightly the way a pencil bends when it is put in water. Merlin tried to blink the dizziness away, tried to take deep breaths like you were supposed to do in situations like this but he couldn't enough cough, he needed his inhaler, and all the blinking did was bring the carpet right up next to his face which was strange and… and…

 

  
:i:

Arthur threw his keys onto the table and shrugged off his coat. He dumped his violin case by the bookshelf with less care than he usually treated it, kicked off his shoes, and ran a tired hand over his face. He needed alcohol, needed something to stop him from thinking, from dwelling on the sickening feeling in his stomach. Arthur went to his cabinet, pulling out bottles, looking for the _Glenlivet_ Morgana had given him for his birthday.

Of course, the thought of Morgana brought his thoughts to Merlin, and Arthur could feel the frustration and anger well up inside his chest. The idiot, the bumbling, stupid, inexperienced _idiot._ Fuckety fuck. The critics were going to have a field day, writing something about incompetence, no doubt. Arthur poured himself a generous glass, downed it in one, and then refilled it from the bottle.

It had been a complete and utter disaster. No matter that the rest of the concert had been polished perfection, the audience wouldn't remember any of it. The inexplicable blank that Merlin couldn't cover up, because he had no focus and no discipline whatsoever. He had begun improvising, getting carried away and Arthur had _let him_ for the past week or so because it sounded so _different._

Arthur stopped refilling and drank straight from the bottle, taking it with him as he collapsed onto his couch. He was exhausted and irritated and soon to be drunk.

Minutes ticked by.

Arthur brooded.

Obviously three weeks had not been long enough time to drill Merlin's terrible habits out of him. In fact, if three weeks under Arthur's influence had not been able to cure Merlin of his outrageous penchant for making things up, then Arthur didn't know what would. It was one of those diseases of the brain that was fatal to your career because you could _never get rid of it._ And despite Arthur's constant, insistent, and repeated _corrections_ , Merlin had reverted back to his old form under the pressures of performing. It was entirely, completely, irrefutable _all his fault_. But it was also Arthur's fault for not whipping him into shape.

Sainthood came at a price, and Arthur was paying for his patience for putting up with Merlin. He should have just kicked him out, told him to get a job at the supermarket and leave the musical world in peace. Yes. Morgana would never have done something so stupid. He should have fired Merlin as soon as the idiot began "improving" Beethoven and hired someone else, someone who was not barely twenty and ate inordinate amounts of sugar and was a stubborn and unpredictable as the weather and played the most beautiful Chopin Arthur had ever-

Arthur took a long gulp from the whiskey bottle, letting his head drop back with a groan.

The burn of his anger was dissipating as quickly as the alcohol was settling in his veins. He knew there was nothing he could do now but salvage his reputation – again- and hope his father wouldn't cut him off completely in a fit of rage. Uther was in Germany right now, thank heavens, but Arthur wouldn't have been surprised if his phone started exploding right that minute. Perhaps he should turn it off.

Yes, that was a good idea.

Standing up, Arthur made his unsteady way towards the chair where his coat lay. He set the whiskey bottle down temporarily whilst he groped the pockets for his cellphone. He found it after a few minutes and stabbed vindictively at the power button. Then he threw the phone across the room.

"Fuck it all," he announced to his empty apartment, "Merlin, you're fired!"

He picked up the whiskey again and took another gulp. By now, he was feeling a little better, warmer and fuzzier inside. A voice at the back of his mind (which always sounded like Morgana) told him it was because he couldn't hold his liquor for shit. Arthur rebelled by taking another long swallow, almost choking in the process when he couldn't swallow fast enough.

He should be raging at someone. He should be yelling at Merlin's agent, his stupid ears, or _something._ But all Arthur managed to do was make his way successfully to the couch and fall on top of it, instead of falling asleep on the floor.

 

  
:i:

Arthur's cellphone lay face down on the floor. It had slid beneath the wooden shelf holding Arthur's collection of CDs. When sun came up, the light reflected off the black of the screen.

 

  
:i:

_**St. Mary's State hospital** _

Merlin found out about the whole story later, much later, from Will – Will who ranted and raved with so many inappropriate hand gestures that the nurses tried to remove him from Merlin's hospital room.

The 'much later' bit was because Merlin had been unconscious for nearly 15 hours.

According to Will, the hospital staff had called him at bum-fuck o'clock and said a Merlin Emrys had been brought into the emergency room and to please kindly turn up. He had then jumped in his car and driven over, breaking every speed limit on the way, and Merlin was going to have to pay any speeding tickets he got because it was obviously _all his fault_. According to the stern doctor at Merlin's bedside, Merlin had passed out from overexhaustion and dangerously low blood sugar levels. He then questioned Merlin, clip board in hand, and _when was his last check-up? Had he been taking all his nutritional supplements? Was he aware that without prescribed therapy four times day, Merlin was in danger of_ blahblha de blahblahblah _-_ until Merlin passed out again.

"Where the fuck was that bastard Pendragon anyway?" shouted Will.

According to the nurse, one of the theatre's cleaning staff had discovered Merlin on the ground, not moving, and called for an ambulance. This was all up for debate as Merlin didn't remember any of it, and couldn't protest due to the tube currently stuck down his throat and the oxygen mask over his face. It was all very unfair and very uncomfortable. Will had taken Merlin's temporary disadvantage of not being able to interrupt to deliver a full tirade on Merlin's behaviour.

"You fucker, never _fucking_ do that again you hear? You nearly gave me a heart attack! Why the hell haven't you been eating? The doctor said you hadn't been eating! EATING! _Or_ coming for your sessions are you nuts or mad or just – I mean seriously! God! You piece of worthless dumb shit, I don't even know why I put up with you. You told me you came once a week! You said! Stop rolling your fucking eyes at me. If you weren't so fucking skinny and ill right now I'd give you a shiner to last the rest of your life. Not eating! _Not eating_ are you nuts? And you told me you were okay the other day, then you go passing out at the royal fucking theatre. How can you be so irresponsible? STOP ROLLING YOUR EYES OR I"LL GOUGE THEM OUT WITH THIS SCALPAL – _Oi, give that back_ \- right. Fine. Now where was I? Oh yeah. Why the fuck haven't you been eating? Are you crazy? How can you be so stupid? You look after those stupid budgies better than you look after yourself you useless piece of whale shit. God, I don't even know why I just don't leave you dying in a ditch somewhere, because that's where you'll end up if you do things like NOT EATING. Are you listening to me? Hey. Merlin. Merlin? Don't fall asleep. Oi, Merlin! Stop faking.

…

Merlin? If you're faking it, I'm going to push you off the bed.

Hey, you asleep?

…

Fine I'll just sit here then. You just wait, this conversation is not finished. Fuck, I was worried.

…

Merlin, are you really asleep?"

Currently, Will was sitting next to his bed, nodding off in a standard hospital chair. He had finally fallen asleep about ten minutes ago, despite the sun shining in his face. Merlin felt a bit guilty – Will must have stayed awake beside him all night while he was off touring his unconsciousness. He decided not to be angry at Will anymore for refusing to come to Arthur's concert.

The thought of Arthur made Merlin feel suddenly sick to the stomach, a cold fist of guilt and shame tightening around his torso until a machine started beeping frantically beside his bed.

Sighing (unsuccessfully due to the tube in his throat), Merlin shifted on the thin hospital bed, staring restlessly at the ceiling. He tried to breathe deeply, but hated the sound it made through the tubes, rattling like darth vadar. There was a faintly coloured blob to the right of his vision, which was the "drip" the doctor had him on, the tube snaking to Merlin's bed like something sneaky and familiar. There had been something in Will's rant about _not eating_ and _malnutrition_ and _fucking dumbass_ but Merlin found it hard to concentrate on anything. His head was woozy, still full of cotton wool and air. He wished someone would close the curtains.

Merlin never liked hospitals. He had too much experience with them in his childhood to be comfortable around white linen and the smell of antiseptic. Needles made him nervous and he absolutely hated plastic tubes of all shapes and sizes – even if they were meant to help him breathe and get rid of the mucous in his lungs or whatever. He'd rather strangle himself with them.

A clock was ticking on the hospital wall. It was next to a drab painting of seashells which Merlin glared at for a few, long moments in the attempt to stave off thoughts of Arthur – Arthur, who must be furious with him, Arthur, who Merlin would probably never see again on the account of his absolute failure and –

Merlin tried to sit up, struggling against the leaden weight of his limbs and the cool air that made him shiver. He nearly pulled the IV out of his arm in the process and accidentally knocked a cup off his bedside table with a tube of doom. Will woke with a startled grunt.

"Wha- Hey, what are you-"

Instantly, Will was at his side, pushing Merlin back down by the shoulders. Merlin attempted to gesture with his hands.

"What?" asked Will, "water?"

Merlin shook his head, trying to peer around the room for his bag. His faithful bag which he had had since first year of high school with all his music and gummi bears and, oh gods, _Arthur Plushie._ The bag was probably still at the theatre.Merlin felt tears prickle at the corner of his eyes and watched as Will backpedalled frantically. He clawed at the stupid oxygen mask, managing to wrench half of it off his face before gasping for breath, lungs seizing up when the cool air rushed down his throat. Merlin coughed, wetly, and Will panicked.

"Okay. Okay, don't panic, Merlin. Do you need a nurse? Should I- "

"- have you…my bag?" croaked Merlin.

Will stared at him blankly for a moment, before glancing around the room also. He frowned.

"No, I haven't seen it. I could ask for you?"

Merlin nodded, throat working hard as he swallowed and the cool air seemed to solidify in his lungs. It was a heavy feeling that made his breathing shallow as he tried to look under the bed and nearly topped right off. Will wrenched open the door and shouted for a nurse.

"…I'm sure it's here somewhere, mate," Will was saying reassuringly, trying to push Merlin back into his bed. All Merlin could think about was the fact that someone probably stole his bag and took his wallet (providing he remembered to bring his wallet with him yesterday, although now he really hoped he didn't) and then threw it away in a dump. Arthur Plushie was in a dump.

"-my bag," said Merlin again. Then he sneezed. Will took the opportunity to shove him back onto his pillow and jam the oxygen mask back onto his face so hard it was going to leave a bruise. At that moment, an unfamiliar nurse entered the room, looking harassed. Merlin tried to sit up again, but this time the movement made him nauseas.

"Did anyone get Merlin's stuff when he was brought in?" asked Will.

"I'm afraid I don't know," said the nurse unhelpfully.

Merlin's eyes widened in despair. Aside from Arthur Plushie, he had Gaius and Arthur's music in that bag too - Original Urtexts that cost a small fortune. Merlin wanted to cry with the sheer horribleness of it all. First, he wrecked Arthur's concert so that he was likely never to see Arthur ever again. Then Merlin went and passed out. Which meant he had to stay in hospital. And now he had lost all his music and Arthur Plushie.

Sniffling whilst wearing an oxygen mask was not a comfortable thing. Merlin tried to stop the tears but some leaked out, rebellious and warm, down his cheek and onto his pillow. The unhelpful nurse left without another word, and Will came back into Merlin's line of vision.

"Oh geez- you're not- man."

Merlin glared at him, Will's face blurring a little. The two images of Will shifted from side to side, over lapping like camera film and Merlin blinked hard. Taking as deep a breath as he dared, Merlin closed his eyes, blocking out the dizziness and white washed ceiling. There was the sound of footsteps and the dip of his bed as Will sat down.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" asked Will. It was more of a statement than a question.

Merlin shook his head, eyes still closed. Will sighed. People shouldn't sigh so much. It was one of those things everyone took for granted because, for them, breathing was the easiest thing in the world. Funny really, how the most important actions in life are often the ones that everybody forgets about. Merlin frowned. Weren't hospital drugs meant to make you happy, not emo? Perhaps they only gave you those when you were either dying or had broken both your legs. Merlin kept his eyes shut, trying to block out the hum of the machines and the taste of rubber tube he could feel on his tongue.

"How did the concert go?" insisted Will.

Merlin pretended to be asleep.

"Oh," said Will, after an awkward pause, "that bad?"

"ut-up" mumbled Merlin, trying to bat Will away. His friend only made a half apologetic voice. The bedsprings made a sound as he leaned over, and the next moment there was the sound of water being glugged.

"Wan-thoo-go-home," said Merlin into his pillow.

Will might have said something in reply, but Merlin didn't really hear. He was already asleep.

 

 

:i:

To be absolutely honest, Arthur never thought he'd felt worse than this. He felt like a hundred elephants had trampled through his brain, tattooing their footprints into the insides of his skull. His mouth tasted like something had crawled in there at night and died, and to top it all off, there was a dreadful ache in his neck from sleeping on the couch. He squinted at the sun, sitting up with a groan to find Morgana peering at him.

"Wghahhhhh!" said Arthur, almost braining himself on the edge of the glass coffee table (one bad thing about minimalism cum constructivism furniture. Strange sharp corners in unexpected places.)

"Good morning," said Morgana far too cheerfully.

"How did you get in?" he asked, and subbed a hand over his face.

"I swiped your spare keys," said Morgana casually, twirling them around the index finger of her left hand, "Been helping myself to your peach tarts. You need to make more."

"Ughh," said Arthur because it was far too early in the morning for English and he had a enormous hangover. "Come to gloat?"

Morgana sat herself down beside him on the couch.

"I tried calling, but your phone was off. Then you weren't answering your house phones either, so I came over to make sure you hadn't drowned in your own vomit or something."

Arthur gave her a sidelong look, wary.

"Thanks," he said. "But I don't need your cheerful demeanour right now. The door's that way."

"You better turn your cellphone on before Uther comes knocking too," continued Morgana as if Arthur hadn't spoken, "Though maybe he doesn't know yet."

"Fuck," said Arthur, dropping his face into his hands. He didn't want to have to deal with this right now. In fact, he felt like opening another bottle of alcohol to chase away the after effects of this one. He groped around him blindly for his phone though, thinking he probably needed to get ready and face the music – so to speak.

After a few long moments of unsuccessful searching, Arthur finally lifted his head to look around the room. Where was his cellphone? Morgana had left the couch and was rummaging through his double-fridge, head submerged inside the cooler as she decided what to steal from Arthur. She was cheap like that, always stealing Arthur's food.

Arthur shook himself mentally and stood up, shaking out his jacket and going through the pockets. No phone. What had he done with it?

"Where's the pastry puffs?" came Morgana's muffled voice from inside the refrigerator.

"I threw them out," said Arthur absently, still trying to find his phone. He recalled throwing it at the wall…all the logical deduction was making Arthur's head hurt. Hangover was a bitch; it took away all of Arthur's brain-cells and replaced them with plastic bags - the kind that clogged up the rivers and yacht engines like jellyfish and gave Arthur the strangest similes ever.

Eventually, he found his phone under the cabinet. Thankfully, the screen wasn't cracked or anything and Arthur turned it on with a touch of trepidation. In his kitchen, Morgana was making herself comfortable. Arthur yawned.

His phone buzzed in his hand, announcing that it had three missed calls and two unread messages.

"Uther?" asked Morgana.

Arthur waved an impatient hand at her, scrolling through the calls. One was from his friend Owain, one from his father (Arthur winced) and the last, dated the earliest, was from a landline. Frowning, Arthur selected it and pressed the phone to his ear, waiting for the voicemail to connect. It clicked, and a robotic voice recited the time that the message had been received. Arthur's frown deepened – the call had been made two hours from the end of the concert. _Was it Merlin?_

"You know," said Morgana in the background, "I didn't think it was all bad. In fact, it was one of your more brilliant recitals. The ending was just a little blip."

"… _lin Emrys_ has been admitted to Saint Mary's State Hospital. As the patient's mother cannot be reached, please contact us as soon as possible. The address of the hospital is-"

"Arthur?" said Morgana. The sound of a fork being put down.

Arthur stood frozen with his phone still pressed to his ear.

" _click._ To replay the message, press one. To return the call, press-"

"What's the matter? Who was-"

"I need to go to the hospital," said Arthur, feeling like someone had seized his chest and was squeezing it. The details of last night's events came flooding back in vivid clarity, and, with them, the realisation that Merlin arrived with him in the car and that Arthur had just taken off without him. What if something had happened while he was walking home? What if –

"Oh, Jesus," said Arthur quietly, fear and guilt rising up like bile. " _Fuck."_

"Arthur!" exclaimed Morgana, looking alarmed. Her step-brother rarely swore, "Tell me what's-"

But Arthur was already gone.

 

 

:i:

When Merlin was nine, he hid all his tablets, all his supplements and all his preventive medicine. He hated the taste of them, hated that he had to take all of them to school and down them after his sandwich while the other children asked questions or gave him pitying looks. He didn't like the plastic bottles they came in, the pieces of paper that accompanied them with Hunith's sighs and worried frowns.

So Little Merlin stashed the paper packets away in his locker every day, letting the pile up for nearly two weeks, a stack behind his maths books. The summer outside was bright and full of leaves, and Merlin felt _normal._

He did this until one day he started coughing and couldn't stop. There was something in his lungs, stuck to his throat until Merlin was struggling for breath, heaving wet sniffles. He tried his inhaler, but it didn't help, only made him light headed. It was one of the scariest moments of his young life. He could remember the bleaching of colour in front of his eyes, slow like a speckled television screen, and the sound of his mother screaming when everything went blank.

Merlin never hid his medication again.

 

 

:i:

Arthur got the most uncomfortable sense of déjà vu as he double parked, almost running over some pedestrian in the process. At least this time he had Merlin's room number memorised in his head like a particularly difficult sequence of fingering – 712, 712, 712, 712 – and Arthur knew enough about this hospital now to know that Merlin hadn't been on the operating table. It still wasn't a comfort though, as a whole list of scenarios went through Arthur's imagination, each one more gruesome than the last.

The sheer amount of _things_ that could have happened to clumsy, hapless Merlin walking in the middle of the night through Sydney made Arthur cold with dread. A voice inside his head berated him in a furious tone as he walked, each accent in time with his hurried footsteps on the linoleum. He barely noticed the people he brushed past, only aware of the numbers of the rooms. _How could you have been such a jerk? He came with you. You just left with the car! If anything has happened, it's-_

710, 711, 714 – Arthur backtracked to 712. Through the small glass panel, he caught a glimpse of a dark-haired figure, drowned in white sheets and didn't bother knocking, just wrenched the door open so hard he nearly got concussed on the doorframe. He caught a snippet of conversation-

"...lieve you weren't eating properly-"

-before the person sitting by the bed jumped up and whipped around to face the open door, the surprise on his face morphing quickly into anger. Behind him, Merlin's eyes grew huge when he saw who had arrived. Arthur felt momentarily weak at the knees at the sight of Merlin, alive and well enough to be conscious. He shoved his imagination viciously to the back of his mind.

Will crossed the room and punched Arthur hard across the face.

"Fuck!" swore Arthur, for the second time that day, stumbling back in surprise. There was a muffled "..ill!" from the bed.

"You piece of shit!" shouted Will, lunging back for another go. Arthur ducked, the door swinging shut behind him with a click. "Driving off without him! Fucking jerk, they phoned you first, and you didn't fucking pick up!"

Arthur could feel a throbbing at his temple. He was probably going to get a black eye. He stepped backwards to avoid another fist from Will.

"Look – calm down," said Arthur, raising both eyebrows. He winced as it pulled on the new bruise. "What happened?"

He turned to Merlin, and felt something tug at his gut at the figure in the narrow bed. Merlin was half propped up on pillows, hospital blanket scrunching about his waist as he tried to sit up. One hand was scrabbling at the oxygen mask, and Arthur could see tubes of all sizes leading from the bed and into various machines around it. Their humming formed a backdrop to their breathing, and Arthur was suddenly robbed of words. Merlin stared at Arthur with wide eyes and Arthur stared back.

Then Merlin managed to slide his oxygen mask off.

"For fuck's sake, don't-" Will began. At the same time that Arthur reached forwards to do…to do what he wasn't sure, but _something_. Merlin glare balefully at them both and slid the mask right off.

"It was worse when there was a tube down my throat," he said, voice dry and croaky. He coughed and turned to the table, hand patting the air for the glass of water. Arthur beat Will to it and topped the glass off, handing it over to Merlin, who promptly spilled half of it down his shirt.

"What happened?" Arthur asked again, unconsciously stepping closer to the bed. "The nurse said you were brought here by an ambulance!"

Merlin was leaning back on his pillow so he could hold Arthur's gaze, but, at the question, his gaze flickered to Will for the briefest moment. Arthur frowned, taking in the blue shadows beneath Merlin's eyes, bird-thin collar bones visible beneath the too-large hospital gown. _What was wrong with him?_ Behind him, Will moved to the other side, pulling up a chair to straddle it with a disgruntled expression.

"He was exhausted and pas-" Will began, but Merlin interrupted him with fierce look before his eyes snapped back to Arthur's like a magnet.

"I tripped and knocked myself out," said Merlin, looking determined. His eyes were the colour of Arthur's Partitas on Saturday mornings, opened as wide as they would go, eyelashes clumped with sleep.

Arthur folded his arms to hide the lurching of his heart.

"I don't believe that for a minute. That wouldn't have warranted the hospital, surely."

"It was a really big trip," said Merlin helpfully. "I saw stars and everything."

Will snorted.

Merlin drank the last of the water in the glass. There was a long moment of silence.

"Look," said Merlin, voice still thin and tired, "I'm really sorry about what happened-"

Arthur cut him off with a sharp gesture, averting his gaze.

"It's done. No use talking about it now," he said. He didn't want to dwell on it.

Merlin looked like he was swallowing back words, his expression so sincere and hopeful it startled Arthur. Now that Merlin was okay – he looked well enough, though how had Arthur never noticed how skinny Merlin was?- Arthur's emotions were utterly confused. He should be angry, he should be angry and resentful and rightfully so. Shouldn't he?

"Are you going to tell me what really happened?" he asked instead.

"None of your business," said Will, giving Arthur a disgusted glare, "You've done your sympathy act. Now bugger off."

"Will!" exclaimed Merlin, so loudly that he sneezed and that set off another bout of wheezing breaths; wet and painful. Arthur's frown deepened.

"Have you got pneumonia or something?" he asked while Will stepped forwards, grappled Merlin onto his pillows, and thumped him hard on the chest.

"Ow-" protested Merlin between coughs.

"What the hell are you-" said Arthur, but Will gave him another glare and Merlin several more thumps on the chest. Slowly, the wheezing subsided.

"You shouldn't have taken that off," said Will angrily, pointing at the oxygen mask.

"What's wrong with-"

"I caught a cold!" said Merlin, trying to push Will off the bed.

"Right," said Arthur.

A long pause. He could see Merlin chewing his bottom lip steadily.

"I'm really sorry about-" Merlin began.

"For Christ's sake, it's done, alright?" said Arthur, irritated. It came out sharper than he meant it to. Merlin drew back, looking devastated, mouth a little 'o' of surprise. Arthur had the sudden urge to bang his head against a hard surface. The sight of Merlin in a hospital bed more or less deflated Arthur's anger entirely, leaving him lost and annoyed.

"You're inexperienced. Sloppy habits and technique came out under pressure," he said, mouth working on automatic. Then his phone abruptly rang. Arthur pulled it out of his pocket, and felt a cold stone drop into the bottom of his stomach when the name _Uther Pendragon_ flashed on the screen. He closed his eyes for the briefest moment, aware that Merlin was watching him intently.

"Get better," said Arthur. "I'll see you soon."

"Over my dead body!" said Will, leaping up."You're an unhealthy influence; you stress him out-"

" _Will_!"

The phone continued to ring. Arthur turned on his heels, ignoring Will, and left the hospital room. Only when he was out of earshot did he press the cellphone to his ear.

"Father."

 

:i:

 


	5. FIVE

:i:

_**If a composer could say what he had to say in words,** _

_**he would not bother trying to say it in music.** _

-Gustav Mahler

 

:i:

> The annual cost of medical care for CF among patients in this study averaged $13 300, and ranged from $6200 in mild patients to $43 300 in severe patients during 1996. Among all patients, 47% of total costs were attributable to hospitalization. The remainder of costs were attributable to DNase (Pulmozyme) (18%), clinic visits (12%), outpatient antibiotics (10%), and other medications (13%). For the heart-lung transplant, total charges exceeded $500 000.

_PEDIATRICS_ Vol. 103 No. 6 June 1999, p. e72

 

**:i:**

When Merlin got home, it was to find Mozart and Wolfgang missing. The empty stand on which their cage usually stood was the only thing left, and he experienced a moment of panic before remembering Will saying something about Gwen looking after them while Merlin had been in hospital.

The piano seemed wave at him in greeting, the bass notes and trebles chortling when Merlin sat down in front of it and ran a loving hand over the cover. He played for a few hours, played until the sun set outside his window like a film playing backwards. That first night, Merlin fell asleep at the piano keys, dreaming of a stage and blank music.

He woke in the middle of the night, neck aching, coughing from the position he had been sleeping in. Turning on the lights, Merlin stood and stared blankly into space for a few long minutes.

Then he found a pencil and crossed out ten days on his calendar. That was like a watching a film too, a ritual, a habit. A scripted thing with minutes and crochets and an ending already planned out. Merlin turned off the lights and went back to his piano.

 

_La Grande Echelle, Sydney._

 

Merlin had been out of hospital for a week before he was allowed to go back to work. Will had made sure of it by actually going in to the restaurant to talk to Morgause about Merlin's "deathly illness." Merlin had been sent home with a stern word, several curses in French, and a quarter slice of blueberry cheesecake. He'd had an argument with Will on the way home, and it had ended with Merlin slamming the car door and almost tripping over the curb.

He was alright now, though. Full of antibiotics, shots and enough medications to make a pharmacist faint. He was back in front of the baby grand, back under the chandelier and back to playing  _Chopinesque_ melodies, whistle-tunes turned nocturnes, and jazz that waltzed slowly between the round tables of the restaurant. He let his fingers wander about the main course, day dreaming, chords predictable and pretty like Chagall. Merlin could play whatever he liked, however he liked because here, no one really cared…

…except, Merlin  _did,_ now. He would catch sight of his own face, blurred black between the gold letters, and…blank. Instead, he played an imitation of Arthur's Partita, notes measured and detached and only half as perfect as they sounded on the violin. The colour of the restaurant shimmered, modulated, and Merlin frowned in concentration.

The piano sighed as he switched to another piece of Bach.

Merlin found himself playing on autopilot, as he was wont to do whenever he thought about Arthur too much. And that was almost  _all the time_ these days, much to Will's dismay and Lance's confusion. Gaius seemed to approve because Merlin had decided to give up the battle for Beethoven and just play as the recording companies intended: that is to say, not at all. He replicated whatever the Maestro gave him with a vigour and determination that had him completing the three movements in less than two days.

"Well," Gaius had said, eyebrows arched, "I can't say what has changed…but I approve."

He hadn't spoken to Arthur since that day in the hospital, over a week ago. Merlin found himself measuring time with the minutes he spent away from the piano, in moments of necessity, such as sleeping, and in moments of distraction, such as loneliness. When he was walking home, he played his pieces on repeat through his iPod, until he could recite them like the sea recited the waves along the coast.

His thoughts gravitated towards Arthur at the oddest moments; when he noticed the figure "A" on Lance's violin scores, when he heard Bach's Partita play when clicking through his music and every time he saw a metronome marking. He  _would_ call Arthur, except he had lost his phone along with all his contacts inside it. He didn't want to ask Gaius, not after the Maestro gave him a long, sympathetic look and then patted him on the back when Merlin first returned from hospital.

Merlin toyed with the F sharp, spinning circles around the melody there as his own thoughts dithered. Around him, the chink of cutlery and silverware accompanied the left hand.

_Arthur had come to see him._

Perhaps he wasn't really so angry. The thought was what kept the hopeful bubble inflated in Merlin's chest. He couldn't help dwelling on it: the fact that  _Arthur had come to see him_ despite what Merlin had done and maybe he meant it when he said they would see each other soon?–

The thought filled Merlin with warmth and he decided to let the piano tinkle up to the top C then back down again.

Then it occurred to him that Arthur only had his  _cellphone_  number and if he really had forgiven Merlin for everything, then he couldn't call him because Merlin had lost his phone and then Arthur might think Merlin was ignoring him for some reason and then he would hate Merlin and not want to speak to him ever again ( _GET OUT. Haven't youdoneenoughdamangefor-)_  and then-

The music stopped, abruptly. Merlin was dimly aware of a slight lull in conversation, the restaurant hushing with the silence of the piano. His fingers were frozen in mid-bar, poised above the chromatics. Panic was settling cold inside his chest, heavy like realisation. It made Merlin dig in his pockets for his inhaler.

Someone tapped Merlin on the shoulder, and he turned around, holding his breath. It was a lady in her mid-twenties. She was a wearing a shimmering cocktail dress, pearls at her throat and pinned through her dark hair. Merlin noticed that her hand was in a cast, but somehow it didn't detract from her appearance.

"Are you alright?" she said, her hand on his shoulder. Merlin could see her vacated seat, opposite which sat her dinner partner.

Merlin nodded quickly, giving her a small smile.

"Sure?" she persisted.

"I'm fine," said Merlin, "Sorry for the interruption."

She smiled and straightened.

"That's no problem; I just thought I'd come over and check."

Merlin felt himself blush with embarrassment, half-turning back to the keyboard.

"Do you have a request?" he offered.

She contemplated his question for a moment, finger on chin, before saying; "Chopin nocturne. E flat," in a way that told Merlin she knew what she was talking about. She gave him a last smile, full of curves and eyelashes before returning to her table. Merlin felt like he had forgotten something, and for a moment, simply watched her settle back into her chair, all silk and dark hair.

Merlin returned to his piano.

The next day, Merlin found Arthur waiting for him outside the conservatoire.

He had just had a lesson with Gaius. Will had also finished his own master-class at two thirty in time for lunch. They were making their way out of the main building and towards the campus food court when Merlin spotted a figure standing by the entrance, golden hair shining in the afternoon sun, dark blazer cutting a sharp shadow amidst the colourful clothing of Merlin's peers, holding a familiar looking-

"That's my bag!" exclaimed Merlin before they had even reached the glass doors and before Will could stop him, Merlin pushed them open and raced down the stone steps. He would have crashed headlong into Arthur if the latter hadn't seen him coming and stepped out of the way quickly. Which meant Merlin went careering past and almost face-planted on the last step.

"Arthur!" said Merlin, tripping over his shoe laces when he tried to turn around too fast. His chest heaved with the task of breathing, and he was out of breath just from running the short distance.  _Don't run,_ his mother had always said,  _you'll tire yourself out. Never run._ Merlin had never really heeded the advice though.

"You've got my bag!" said Merlin brightly. All his previous thoughts and fears about Arthur hating the sight of him went out the window because Arthur couldn't hate him if he was  _here._

"I-ah- picked it up. From the theatre," said Arthur, a little awkwardly. He held out the bag by its straps and Merlin took it gratefully, unzipping the front pocket and letting out a cry of joy when he found his battered cellphone inside.

"Thanks!"

Arthur cleared his throat.

"You're welcome," he said. "Listen, something has come up that I need to discuss with-"

"What the hell are you doing here?" said Will angrily, skidding to a stop beside the two of them. "Bugger off!"

"He was just dropping off my bag," said Merlin, glaring at his friend and wishing he hadn't interrupted Arthur. He wondered if they had been friends for long enough to have developed a telepathic connection and would allow Merlin to say something along the lines of:  _let Arthur and_ _me_ _skip into the sunset and stop being so grumpy._ Instead, he just gave Will the sternest glare he could muster up.

"You had Merlin's stuff? What took you so long to return it then?" asked Will, arms folded.

For some reason, Arthur looked vaguely guilty, a red blush appearing high on his cheeks.

"I've been rather busy, I haven't had a chance. We can't all be talentless students."

At this, Merlin frowned. Arthur's prat-meter went up. Will bristled.

"Who are you calling talentless?" he said, hoisting his violin case over his shoulder. "Where would you be if you didn't have daddy the CEO? Huh?"

Arthur's eyes flashed dangerously, and his expression shut down so fast that Merlin blinked in surprise.

"At least my father didn't commit career suicide by making a fool of-"

Merlin had had enough.

"Stop it!" he said, grabbing Will's arm when it looked like he was going to leap forwards. "Just- shut up, both of you!"

Arthur folded his own arms, eyebrows raised contemptuously while Will looked like he was about to commit murder. Merlin sighed and hugged his bag to his chest, turning on his phone and slipping it into his pocket.

"Thanks for returning my bag," he said to Arthur, who unfolded his arms and turned his back on Will. "What were you saying before?"

Arthur's blue eyes darted to Will, then back again.

"I need to discuss something with you," he said civilly, in a tone Merlin couldn't place. "Shall we go somewhere less noisy?" He gestured at the students milling around them.

"Cafeteria?" suggested Merlin hopefully, thinking of apple pies.

Arthur shrugged, hands in pockets.

"Lead the way."

Merlin beamed at him, and then promptly stepped on Will's toes to shut him up.

Merlin could feel Arthur surveying his food with disapproving eyes. He tugged the tray closer to himself, biting into the microwave pie with relish. Arthur made a distressed sound.

"Do you know how unhealthy that is?" he asked, gesturing at Merlin's tray in general while Will clattered and banged things as he sat down beside the two of them. Merlin stabbed a straw into his carton of milk (strawberry) and took a long sip. "Don't tell me this is what you eat everyday."

"It has calcium," he said, defensively.

"As well as sugar and preservatives," said Arthur, like the utter prat he was. "And this-" he grabbed Merlin's half eaten pie, "is absolutely trash. Look at the pastry! If you can call that pastry!"

Merlin tried to grab it back but Arthur scrunched up the packet, pie and all, and lobbed it neatly into the rubbish bin on the far side of the room. Merlin leapt up.

"What did you do that for?" he exclaimed, horrified. "I was eating that!"

"It's in the rubbish where it belongs," said Arthur, snobbishly. "Eat your sandwich."

Merlin turned to Will, eyes round and disbelieving.

"Did you see what he just did?" he asked.

Will snorted.

"Serves you right for inviting him to lunch," he said, bad-tempered.

"Sit down," said Arthur, unruffled by Will's comment. "I have a proposition for you."

Will choked on his coke.

"Like fuck you do!" he said, slamming the can down.

Arthur gave him a long, pitying look.

"Not that kind of proposition,  _William_."

Merlin sat down slowly, throwing a few longing glances at the rubbish bin. His pie! Arthur had thrown his pie away! Perhaps he had misjudged him completely and Arthur was really a terrible horrible person who abused food?

"What is it?" he asked.

"Killian Gareth contacted me yesterday," said Arthur, straightening in his chair, suddenly all business. "In short, he wanted to sign a recording, a twenty four track repertoire."

"…that's cool?" offered Merlin.

"They're a small label, I know," Arthur continued. "And I wouldn't usually consider…well. They do have a certain standing amongst the critics. But hear this: Killian specifically asked for you. As my accompanist."

Merlin stared, sandwich momentarily forgotten.

"Me?"

"Yes."

There was a pause. Will ate loudly, giving Merlin pointed glares in the silence. Merlin felt like something had lodged between his throat and his stomach. He didn't know whether this was good news or good news, couldn't read Arthur's expression. He tried to look away, but he couldn't.

"I told Killian I would ask you," said Arthur, leaning back in the plastic chair.

"You want me to accompany? For  _you_?" asked Merlin, confused.

"That's what he fucking said, isn't it?" said Will.

"Actually,  _Killian_  wants you to accompany me," said Arthur dryly, nodding in Will's direction. To Merlin, he said, "He loved the collaboration at the concert, apparently."

"But I thought you didn't want…but I-" Merlin stammered. He paused, uncertain. "Shouldn't you be angry with me?"

"That would be unprofessional," said Arthur smoothly, expression a mask of indifference.

"Oh," said Merlin, more confused than ever, but also so relieved he felt like he was going to fall out of his chair. " _Oh_."

"I have a list of the compulsory pieces," said Arthur, "Mostly the music we will be playing together. There are also solo tracks. But the freedom is there – Killian's only condition was that the pianist was you. "

"Oh," said Merlin, still dazed.

"That's not an answer," said Arthur.

Will stabbed his fork into his pasta so viciously, the tip of the plastic snapped onto the plate.

"Yes!" said Merlin, smiling so widely his face hurt. "Okay! Yes! I mean, um."

Arthur nodded once, then made to stand up.

"How much does he get paid?" Will demanded.

Merlin managed to stamp down on his excitement until he got back to his flat, which he thought was a remarkable feat of determination and strength of will and general awesomeness. He burst into his apartment and tugged his bag open, pulling out the music and dumping them on top of the piano. Beneath them lay Arthur plushie, a bit squashed but whole and well, and Merlin hugged him to his chest.

"I wouldn't have made another one," he told Arthur Plushie. "No other plushie will ever replace you."

Arthur Plushie seemed to smile back, the hint of it in the slash of his eyebrows. Merlin straightened the little jacket he wore, and it was then he noticed the post-it note stuck to the inside of the suit jacket. Pulling the yellow note free, Merlin turned it right side up. His eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. In neat handwriting, the note read:

_Wash Me._

It was either the guilt of seeing Merlin in hospital or he had gone utterly insane, thought Arthur, arranging the music in programme order on the floor of his studio. He deliberated over the Bach and Rachmaninov, and switched the two around. He had just confirmed with Killian and now he was officially recording a C.D. with the idiot who had ruined his last recital.

To be quite honest, it could be all of the above. The insanity, that is.

He already had a Conversation with his father – conducted over the phone of course – and Merlin had already been fired. Technically. Uther would not approve of Arthur embarking on his own creative projects, especially with a small label not affiliated with Uther's own. Something about reputation and prestige.

Arthur flipped through the pages of a proposed duet between piano and violin, mentally making a note to find a recording somewhere so he could listen to it later. He had half a mind to veto half the proposed list, some of which by composers he had never heard of and therefore was probably experimental trash that no one else wanted to record. _Probably something Merlin would like_ , thought Arthur, nudging a pile of scores into a neat stack with his toe.

And there it was – the fact that Merlin had  _grown_  on him, sneakily like fungus or some kind of benign disease. Arthur suspected it had actually begun since their first meeting, when Merlin had butchered Beethoven then played a flawless Liszt to make a point. The non-sober meeting had not counted. But yes, Merlin was sneaky and irritating and apparently had the power to  _grow_ on people. It had happened so fast, Arthur would find himself wondering what Merlin's favourite food was (besides sweets) or whether he always played like he did or whether that was just to piss Arthur off. He didn't like examining his own thoughts too often, though something clearly had to be done. Hence he attributed all the above insanity to the shock of seeing Merlin in hospital. It was like getting Morgana's phone call all over again, the déjà vu sharp in his mind's eye: Merlin, hooked up to some sort of ventilator and looking so…  _small._ Arthur left in a Chopin arrangement at the mere memory, feeling his heart constrict in a most unprofessional manner. He took the Chopin out again.

Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to do this, this  _collaboration_ with a university student who didn't know Ciabatta from his pizza and had  _ruined Arthur's recital._ No doubt his father would be furious when he found out. He never approved of anything.

Arthur straightened, pulling out his phone and dialled Merlin's number.

Merlin had lost his phone again.

"I put it right here!" he protested to a glowering Arthur Plushie, "And I can hear it!"

And he could; the muffled sound of the ringtone was coming from  _somewhere._ Merlin pulled aside a red bean bag and rifled through his laundry. Then he upended his bag, letting the contents spray out onto the carpet in a scatter of empty sweet wrappers, pencils and paper. There was an empty block of air on the table where the cellphone should be and Merlin groaned. He couldn't believe his phone was missing again, less than twenty-four hours after he found it. Life was not fair.

The phone stopped ringing.

"Bugger!" said Merlin, collapsing onto his beanbag. It was probably Will.

The ringing resumed.

"Gah!" said Merlin, leaping up, "Where is it?"

Eventually (two minutes later), Merlin found his phone in his hoodie pocket, the hoodie being in the pile of laundry. Pulling out the silver thing, Merlin flipped it open and stabbed "call" with his thumb, bringing the phone to his ear.

"Will?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.

"Incorrect," came Arthur's voice, sounding a bit annoyed. Merlin backpedalled, both literally and metaphorically. His back hit the sharp edge of the piano and he let out a squawk of pain, almost dropping his phone.

"…you alright?" asked Arthur, as Merlin fumbled with his phone.

"Yes!" he said, "What's up?"

Another pause.

"I have some music here for the recording. I thought we should go over the list together, consolidate a draft by Monday."

"Okay," said Merlin. He didn't have classes today, and had been planning on drilling Mozart until he died. An afternoon with Arthur sounded much more appealing. He mentally ran through the bus time table. "Do you want me to come over now?"

There was the sound of footsteps over the line, then rustling.

"No. I'll pick you up, it's raining."

Merlin glanced out the window.

"It is raining!" he said, surprised.

"Congratulations," said Arthur and Merlin could hear the eye-roll in his voice, "I'll see you in fifteen minutes."

"O-" said Merlin, as Arthur hung up, "-kay," he finished.

Arthur's car arrived at fourteen minutes past one, the rain making thunder-pattery sounds on the pavement outside Merlin's apartment building. Merlin always thought rainfall was like applause, and had to resist the urge to step out into it and open his mouth. Catching a cold was not the smartest thing to do; it had a rather adverse effect on Merlin's ability to breathe. Tugging his hands into his hoodie, Merlin made a dash for the side of the pavement and managed to open the car door and fall inside it without any broken bones.

"You're wet," said Arthur. He took Merlin's bag and shoved it into the backseat whilst Merlin grappled for the seatbelt and sneezed at the sudden change in temperature. Arthur had the heater on, and there was warm air blowing on Merlin's toes. Merlin stopped and wiggled his foot. Sure enough, there was a smiling hole where the body of the shoe was meant to be attached to the sole. Huh.

"Don't you own an umbrella?" asked Arthur, pulling onto the road and into traffic. He was not wearing a suit for once. A white collared shirt was visible beneath a soft navy jersey, and instead of dress pants, Arthur was wearing  _jeans._

"Merlin?" asked Arthur, and Merlin realised he had been staring. He blinked and quickly turned to his window.

"Um, I don't know where it is?" he said.

"Typical," said Arthur.

"I find walking in the rain liberating, actually," said Merlin, turning back to Arthur. "It's very nice."

"And wet," Arthur replied, turning a corner smoothly and successfully dodging a red light.

"But that's the point, isn't it?" said Merlin. "Haven't you ever walked in rain for the sake of it?"

"I can't say I have," said Arthur. "It's because I don't make a habit of ruining my clothes or skin in polluted and acidic water."

Merlin stared, a little stumped.

"No wonder you're so grumpy all the time," he said, thinking about Arthur Plushie in the back seat.

Arthur Plushie  _who had been put in the wash by Arthur himself._ Oh dear. Merlin had forgotten about that. The thought that Arthur knew about Arthur Plushie made Merlin blush, he couldn't help himself. Shifting in his seat, he rested his forehead against the cool glass.

"I don't see why walking in dirty water constitutes happiness," said Arthur, turning into the underground car park.

Merlin gave up.

The fluorescent lights made puddles of shadows mix with the puddles of water on the floor. Arthur parked the car, reversing into the rectangle. Merlin pulled his bag from the back seat and opened the door. The car made a funny noise as Arthur locked it, and they made their way towards the elevator entrance.

Two hours later, Merlin wondered if Arthur was regretting the whole thing. There was music strewn everywhere, the chronological system ruined and Arthur's hair messed up from too much stress. Merlin folded his arms, determined not to back down.

"But I'm telling you," Arthur shouted, "That Chopin as no merit! It's pretty and that's all there is to it, what are you showcasing? It's a waste of space."

"I like it!" insisted Merlin, clutching the music, "And it's not even  _yours_ you prat! It's my _solo_  bit! I can choose what I like, so there!"

Arthur made mimed strangling motions with his hands, glaring at the wall over Merlin's shoulder. Merlin stood his ground.

"Fine," said Arthur at last. "Fine. Keep the bloody Chopin – but then you're also playing his etude."

"No!" Merlin protested. "I don't want to!"

"Then scrap the waltz!"

"No!"

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, unconsciously making one side stick up like a tuft of…something fluffy. Merlin glared at the pile of music in the "in" stack.

"For heaven's sake, stop being so immature. Trust me, I have experience with this sort of thing."

"I want to play what I enjoy," said Merlin. "If you want to play something you clearly don't like for the sake of it being difficult, then do it; but you can't boss me around."

Arthur blinked, stilling for a moment.

"I'm planning a balanced programme," he said. Merlin snorted.

"No. You're putting together an  _academic's_  programme," he said, pointing at the list in Arthur's hand. "Do you even  _like_  half those pieces?"

"Yes," said Arthur, but it didn't sound very convincing. There was a furrow on his brow, and Merlin felt suddenly bad for making him stress. Arthur didn't exactly need to stress more than he already did. Even if he was a prat of gigantic proportions.

"Just let me pick some nicer ones," Merlin wheedled, sliding a photocopy of "Scherzo-Tarantella" towards Arthur over the piano lid. "What about this?"

Arthur frowned at it.

"All sparkle and no substance," he said, turning his nose up at it.

"Don't be so judgemental!" said Merlin, "It sounds awesome! I've got it on my iPod."

"I think I would know better than you,  _Mer_ lin," said Arthur.

Merlin made flapping gestures with his arms in exasperation.

"It's fast! You can show off! What more do you want?"

"I don't want to- I don't-" spluttered Arthur, looking offended. "I'm a  _musician,_ Merlin."

"No you're not," said Merlin bluntly. "You're a machine. You play to exact specifications, you obsess over stupid things like tempo markings and dynamics like they're the ten commandments or something, it's like you have an idea of what the music is meant to sound like and that's the one that's written down. Well, that's just stupid because music isn't like that, it's meant to be happy and you always play as if you're being examined or something and, and- and you never  _smile_!"

Silence.

"Are you finished?" said Arthur coolly.

Merlin swallowed, throat dry.

"Yes?" he said in a small voice.

Arthur was giving him a strange sort of look. Merlin couldn't be sure whether it was appraising or puzzled or disapproving. Maybe it was a combination of all three.

"I'll play the Scherzo if it means so much to you," said Arthur, looking as if he couldn't care less, " _But only if_  you will play that Etude."

Merlin glared at Arthur for a long moment. Then he relented.

"Alright then," he said.

Merlin couldn't remember the last time he stopped. Couldn't remember ever really being _still_ because being still meant being stationary and being stationary meant he was wasting minutes, seconds… a whole lifetime. Sometimes he thought he caught people wasting away like this: on the corner bus top, waiting, waiting for something they couldn't quite define.

Merlin never waited. He didn't like the thought of  _never_ , the static, indefinite weight of it in the squares of the calendar and the tick of the metronome. He rushed into things, more often than not forgot half the essentials (medication, names unprounceable) and it was usually Will who would tell him off, remind him to count,  _count Merlin, one two three four, one two three four, one two three-_

For Merlin, love had no time, no duration, no life-span. It did not grow or rush, slow or fast. It simply  _was_ one day in the smooth line of Arthur's throat, his unsmiling face, his practiced fingers and music so contained it was bursting at the edges of his soul, Merlin could  _feel it:_ the sound oftoo much perfection, waiting to be freed. It simply  _was_ because love didn't wait either: it grabbed onto Merlin like a tight embrace, constricting the chest but so wonderfully  _warmwarmwarm_.

But being in love was like waiting and running at the same time. It was like too much air and breathlessness, being lost and being found, the steady beating of a heart with no time signature. If someone asked why Merlin was in love with Arthur Pendragon, he couldn't say. If someone had asked his piano why he loved Arthur Pendragon…

Well.

It would tell a better story.

They met Killian Gareth the following week, on an August afternoon full of leaves and biting wind, sharp like accidentals in Prokofiev. Gaius had exempted him from the day's classes, telling Merlin he was proud of the way he was seizing opportunities.

Arthur, for some strange reason, hadn't sacked him yet, despite further arguments over the repertoire. Merlin fiddled with the car's music system, trying to find the right track while Arthur drove them to the studio just outside of Sydney. It was almost like a road trip – Merlin had never been on a road trip before.

"Will you stop doing that?" snapped Arthur, grabbing hold of Merlin's wrist as Merlin made to change the track again. "It's distracting. And irritating."

"Fine," said Merlin, and Arthur let go of his hand.

Merlin could feel the places where their skin had touched, warm and tingly, for the rest of the drive.

The studio buildings took up half a block, with a car-park situated next to a small park full of new oak and wild flowers. Merlin sneezed when he got out of the car, and Arthur frowned at him, as if he had been offended. Merlin ignored him and pulled his bag, laden with music and Arthur Plushie, onto his shoulder.

"If you're cold, why didn't you bring a jacket?" asked Arthur, locking the car. Their footsteps crunched on the gravel as they made their way to the main entrance, all glass doors and abstract looking architecture.

"I'm not cold," said Merlin, suppressing a second sneeze, "Your car was too warm."

Arthur rolled his eyes, straightening his tie. He had made Merlin dress "properly" for the occasion, but Merlin had managed to avoid having to wear a tie (evil things) and was wearing one of Arthur's jerseys instead of a suit jacket. It was a teal-green jersey with a logo embroidered on the left breast, and the sleeves were a little too long. But it smelt like the cologne Arthur wore and was wonderfully soft. Merlin wondered where he could get some similar materials to make a jersey for Arthur Plushie too.

He wandered into the building after Arthur, who strode straight to the receptions desk and slid a card over the marble counter. Merlin went off to examine one of the canvas paintings on the wall. It looked like two people intertwined around an oboe, if Merlin tilted his head sideways and closed one eye. Or was it a snail? French painting?

"Merlin, stop gawking and come here," said Arthur imperiously, beckoning to Merlin as if he was a dog. Merlin scowled, but did as he was told, watching as Arthur pressed the button for the elevator.

"Why are we going down? I thought this was the ground floor," said Merlin, eyes tracking the number squares as they lit up in descending order. Arthur shrugged.

"That's where Killian's office is, apparently."

"Underground?"

"That's what the down arrow usually represents, Merlin."

Merlin pouted.

The lift opened with a chime, and they stepped inside. Merlin noticed Arthur tugging at his collar as soon as the doors closed, the motion multiplied by the mirrored walls around them.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Arthur's hand fell to his side, eyes adverted.

"Never liked small spaces," he muttered.

"But you live on the top floor," said Merlin, confused. "You have to get into the lift every day."

"Well my lift is bigger than this one," replied Arthur peevishly, his jaw clenched in a tense line, "And I also have a whole wall of windows in my apartment, just so you know."

Unconsciously, it seemed, Arthur tugged at this collar again, loosening his tie. When he swallowed, Merlin could see his Adam's apple bobbing. Blue eyes followed the numbers flashing above the door, and Arthur looked so miserable Merlin gave him a quick hug around the waist. The lift chimed to a stop and Merlin bounded into a long corridor, missing Arthur's startled expression.

 

_Half an hour later._

 

"…two sides of the same coin," said Killian for the tenth time in as many minutes. "You, Pendragon, cannot reach your true potential without your other half."

The man nodded towards Merlin, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Arthur looked like he wanted to jump out a window, and was growing increasingly irritated at the lack thereof.

"Yes – but we simply can't record ten tracks in the next two months; I have a concert with the Philharmonic and Merlin has his studies. Which is why-" Arthur pointed to an annotation he had made on the repertoire list, "I think we should cut it down to six. Or we get at least an extra two months, excluding the second album."

"Er," said Merlin, feeling out of depth, "I can learn those pieces in two months. I think."

Arthur shot him a  _shut up right now_ look, before turning back to Killian.

"The contract is a two album firm," Killian said, his fingers steepled, elbows resting on his desk so that he looked like one of those villain archetypes in films. Merlin bit his lip, wondering what "firm" meant. He was a bit lost, to be honest. At least Arthur looked like he knew what he was doing.

"Three months, excluding solos," said Arthur, "And I want these amendments made."

Killian Gareth leaned back in his chair, the leather squeaking as he moved. There was a long moment of silence.

"Very well," he said at last.

Arthur stood abruptly, and Merlin hastened to follow, startled out of his daze.

"Send me the contract and I'll get back to you by the end of the week," he said. Killian remained seated, face half hidden in shadow. The lighting of his office was truly abysmal, thought Merlin, fumbling in the gloom to check that his phone was still in his pocket. They were almost at the door when Killian said, enigmatically,

"You know. I've never been wrong before."

Arthur snorted and opened the door for Merlin.

Merlin squinted when the lift chimed open, the light too bright after their journey underground. They made their way across the lobby, and Merlin sneezed as they stepped out into the late morning sunshine, the wind making him shiver. Arthur  _tsk_ ed and shrugged off his jacket, thrusting it in Merlin's face.

"Put this on," he said, and Merlin had to grab for it before the jacket fell on the pavement.

"I'm not a girl!" he protested.

"No," Arthur agreed, "you're incompetent. Now put it on."

Grumbling, Merlin stuck his arms through the sleeves and pulled on the jacket. As expected, it was far too big around the shoulders, but it was still warm from Arthur and the lapels proved handy against the wind. Merlin flipped them up.

"Oh, God," said Arthur, "You look like such an idiot."

Merlin stuck out his tongue, grabbing his bag which he had dropped on the ground when trying to catch Arthur's jacket. It was a good deal less cold than it had been an hour ago, the sun shining in an azure blue sky, clouds dotted white like candy floss. Merlin almost walked into a lamppost, because his head was tilted back to watch the sky. He swerved at the last minute and walked into Arthur instead.

" _What the_ \- honestly, Merlin," said Arthur, "you would think a pianist would have better coordination."

"Sorry," said Merlin cheerfully.

The car bleeped in greeting, and Merlin settled in the front seat, unzipping his bag to search for some spare chocolate whilst Arthur got into the drivers' side. Merlin was _positive_ he had an extra Kit-Kat bar in the front pocket, left from lunch yesterday. Finding no Kit-Kat bar, Merlin proceeded to rifle through the bag itself, piling stray bits of photocopying, an oddly shaped rock, and two erasers on his seat between his legs. Arthur started the car.

"Digging for treasure?" he asked, wryly as they pulled out of the parking lot.

"Yeah," said Merlin, face half buried in his bag. He lifted Arthur Plushie out of the way and finally found the chocolate. Pulling it out triumphantly, he said;

"Look! Food!"

Arthur shot him a look that said  _oh really._ The sarcasm was evident in the silence. Merlin ignored it and peeled back the red wrapper, the smell of chocolate and wafer quickly filling the interior of the car. Merlin took a big bite, groaning in ecstasy as he settled further into his seat, getting ready to demolish the chocolate with the attention it deserved. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Arthur giving him an odd look, brief and…amused?

"…you want some?" asked Merlin, belatedly through a mouthful of wafer. He offered the bar in the ultimate gesture of love, sticking the chocolate in front of Arthur's mouth. Arthur spluttered.

"Jesus  _Mer_ – I'm driving!"

Merlin shrugged and took another bite.

"Don't get crumbs on the upholstery," said Arthur grumpily, eyes firmly fixed on the road, "or me, for that matter."

Merlin frowned, looking from the Kit-Kat to Arthur.

"I'm nowhere near you, you prat," he said, chewing extra loudly just to prove a point. Arthur smirked. He actually smirked!

"I meant  _me,_ " he said, with a significant glance at Merlin's bag. Merlin followed the look and found Arthur Plushie glowering back at him, face peppered with wafer and bits of chocolate crumbs. Merlin looked back at the life-sized Arthur next to him and felt his face go hot.

"I- you- as if-" stammered Merlin, unsure whether Arthur liked or disliked his mini-me. He was definitely smirking though, a full out, smug, prattish smirk that made his lips curl up: the closest thing to a smile Merlin had ever seen on Arthur's face.

Mind made up, Merlin grabbed Arthur Plushie and smooshed the last bite of kit-kat into its face, crumbs and bits of wafer going everywhere. It left a giant smear of brown on the Plushie's face, and Merlin pummelled it with his hands like he wanted to pummel Arthur's Prattish Ego sometimes. Beside him, the real Arthur let out a snort of laughter, which turned into real laughter, brief and bright, filling Merlin with warmth like he was inhaling sunlight.

Merlin stuffed Arthur Plushie roughly into his bag and then dumped all his music, erasers and funny shaped stone on top of him. Then he zipped up the bag and shoved it on the floor.

They sat in comfortable silence for the rest of the ride.

Since Merlin had the rest of the day off, and Arthur seemed to be abnormally not-busy, they went back to Arthur's studio. At least, that's where Merlin thought they were going (probably for their daily argument over whether Beethoven really was a waste of time or just a moderate waste of time) until Arthur pressed a different button in the lift and they stepped out three seconds earlier than they usually did.

"Uh…" said Merlin.

Arthur was unlocking the door, keys jangling.

"This is where I live, idiot," said Arthur, pushing the door open and toeing off his shoes. Merlin could see a row of leather shoes just like the ones Arthur was wearing, set out on the shelf. They were all wrapped in plastic. Merlin put his in the middle of the mat, just to see what would happen. Arthur glared at him, but said nothing.

"Slippers are over there," he said, pointing, before disappearing around the corner. Merlin chose red chequered pair of slippers before following the sound of Arthur's footsteps.

Arthur's flat was like Arthur's studio: that is to say, impeccably tidy. It did look more homey though. Marginally. The kitchen was larger, taking up an entire wall with a dark, curved bench of polished wood. Merlin perched himself by the breakfast bar, on one of those tall stools, the better to survey the room.

Like the studio, the flat was open planning; the kitchen adjoining the dining area which flowed into what Merlin presumed was the living room. It had two large comfortable couches angled towards a plasma television. There was a coffee table that looked as if it had migrated from the studio, several book shelves along the walls and speakers embedded in the ceiling. Several watercolour paintings hung on the white walls, splotches of blue and green. Merlin spotted a stack of magazines by the couch, their covers glossy and smooth, unread. He turned around, wanting to ask Arthur whether there was any spare food around, but found the kitchen empty. Arthur seemed to have vanished. In his place, there was a large jar of chocolate truffles. A large jar of unguarded chocolate truffles. Merlin glanced around quickly, noting Arthur's continual absence, before making a dive across the breakfast bar.

The jar was one of those large, cylindrical ones made of heavy solid glass and a cork stopper. Merlin used his fingernails to prise the stopper-lid off and it opened with a  _pop._ The truffles smelt amazing, the scent of rich dark cocoa and cream and chocolate dusting floating out of the jar, and Merlin inhaled happily. Sticking his hand into the jar, he fished out a smooth, round truffle and popped it into his mouth. He chewed, rolling the chocolate from one cheek to the other, savouring the rich chocolate. All too soon, it was gone. Merlin glanced up and around the room. Surely it wouldn't matter if he just took another one…

Three minutes later, Merlin had lost count. His arm was currently a little stuck, as he was trying to fish for the white-chocolate truffle hiding at the bottom of the jar. Merlin nearly toppled backwards off his stool when Arthur appeared out of nowhere and said;

" _Merlin_! What do you think you're doing?"

"Gahhh!" said Merlin, his arm coming free at last. Arthur caught the jar before it could smash on the floor. Merlin blinked several times.

"Who said you could eat those?" demanded Arthur, stuffing the cork back into the mouth of the bottle and scowling at Merlin. Merlin was astonished: he never thought Arthur would be a chocolate person. Chocolate people were usually a lot happier. It wasn't just Merlin's opinion either, it was Scientifically Proven. He looked guiltily from the truffles to Arthur.

"Sorry," he said, licking his fingers, "I couldn't help it."

Arthur slid the half empty jar onto a top shelf, then turned around, hands on his hips. He wasn't wearing what he was wearing ten minutes ago; gone were the pressed pants, the tie and – Merlin realised he was still wearing Arthur's jacket. Oops.

"I was saving those," said Arthur, and was he  _pouting_?

"For me?" asked Merlin, grinning.

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"As if you need any more sugar."

Merlin was getting distracted by the  _jeans_ and  _t-shirt_ and  _arms._ Arthur was rummaging around in the fridge, setting out packages and plates along the kitchen bench. A cube of cheese, herbs and peppers in shiny bottles, things with names Merlin couldn't pronounce. He was too busy taking in the vision that was  _Arthur and t-shirt._ There was nothing really remarkable about the tshirt itself, but that fact that it was a  _tshirt_ made Arthur look like a completely different person. Or it might have been something to do with the fact that Merlin could never resist anyone who knew their way around a kitchen. And food.

"…are you going comatose already?" asked Arthur, snapping his fingers in front of Merlin's face. "Because if so, please go pass out in the living room."

"T-shirt," said Merlin, coherently.

Arthur paused in the act of un-glad-wrapping.

"Excuse me?"

"Uh, I mean, why did you get changed?" amended Merlin.

Arthur made a vague gesture at the foodstuffs laid out in front of him.

"Food preparation," he said. The  _duh_ was self evident.

"You could have just rolled up your sleeves," Merlin pointed out helpfully.

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"But then I would have unsightly creases all along my arms, wouldn't I? Don't be dense."

"But you can eat faster. You know, without wasting time and getting changed."

Arthur stared at him.

"Go sit in the living room and watch television," he said after a moment's pause.

"I thought we were eating lunch!" protested Merlin.

"I'm  _making_ lunch. It's going to take at least twenty minutes for me to throw this together, so go away before I'm tempted to poison you into silence."

Merlin gaped at him in shock. Then he leapt up from his seat.

" _YOU CAN COOK?_ "

"Merlin."

"Hmmm-mmm, um?"

"You haven't said anything for the last ten minutes."

"Mm."

"It's rather disturbing."

"Can I have another slice of  _keeesh_?"

"It's  _quiche_ , Merlin."

"uhmm, mmm."

The first time they recorded at the studio ( _Caprice_ , they knew it all as if they'd played with each other each other all their lives) Arthur brought Merlin three extra truffles from the jar. As a bribe to keep him in time, of course. That's what Arthur said anyway; Merlin wasn't really listening, too busy demolishing the chocolate. When they arrived to the studio, it was all he could taste, all he could smell.

Then there was only the piano and violin, Arthur and Merlin  _merlinandarthur_ like one of those Italian words that meant  _cantabile_ or  _sweetly_ or-

"Merlin, concentrate!" interrupted Arthur.

Merlin grinned into the semiquavers. In the small room, Arthur seemed almost relaxed, shoulders slanted and a curve to his back when he played up near the bridge. Merlin savoured those moments, when Arthur caught his eye and quickly looked away, when the music swelled like Merlin imagined his heart did. The piece tasted like chocolate, sweet and beautiful, full of emotions Merlin couldn't and didn't need to describe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scanning over this I'm actually not all that happy with my writing hahaa, but I thought for readibility and archival purposes i shoudl finish uploading here before *other things* in this verse happen :3


	6. SIX

:i:

_**Music is what life sounds like.** _

-Eric Olson

:i:

They fell into an easy routine.

Arthur liked routine, liked the predictability, the tidy lines they made in his planner like staves of music. It was expectation in its safest form: formula. All music was, really. And it was becoming increasingly undeniable that he also  _liked_ having Merlin around almost as much as he liked being alone.

Being a virtuoso didn't exactly lend itself to social life – not Arthur's anyway. He had friends, of course, Owain, Leon, Morgana (god help him). But an eight-hour daily practice schedule did not leave him with much free time. In the space of less than three months, Merlin had somehow inserted himself into Arthur's life, Arthur's routine – not to mention Arthur's pantry.

"Don't you have other studies?" asked Arthur one afternoon, while the rain pounded on the windows. Merlin paused, looking up though his hands still flickered over the keys, an aimless tune being spun round and round his wrists.

"Yep," said Merlin.

A long moment went by, the piano humming contentedly between the two of them. Arthur's violin was resting in its case; it had a change of strings. Arthur went through three sets of strings a month.

"Are you sure you should be spending so much time on this, then?" Arthur asked. Not because Merlin didn't need to spend time on  _this_  – he did. But someone had to keep Merlin on track. The idiot probably wouldn't even know what the date was if it wasn't for Arthur's schedules and reminders. He would be utterly lost without Arthur's guidance.

"It's just pieces and stuff," said Merlin vaguely, the piano modulating into B flat minor, "Not like it takes very long to learn, yeah?"

Arthur frowned.

"You'll never get anywhere with that sort of attitude," he said.

Merlin shot him an annoyed look.

"That's what Gaius says. Don't you start."

"It's true," said Arthur sagely, taking a sip from his glass of orange juice. Merlin's glass had long been empty.

"Well, some of us don't necessarily want to  _go_  anywhere," said Merlin, turning back to the keyboard and running a chromatic sequence all the way to the top and back down again. "Maybe I'm happy where I am."

"And where's that?" asked Arthur. "Surely you don't want to be an accompanist for the rest of your life."

"No," said Merlin, notes flickering about his sleeves like moths, "Kindergarten teacher."

The piano chuckled in agreement, notes gurgling like water, as if Merlin had tickled it under the bass. When everything had turned into a bright D major waltz, Arthur couldn't remember. The melody was so happy it was like the sun had suddenly come out.

Outside, a clap of thunder rumbled ominously.

"Honestly?" said Arthur, unable to keep the interest out of his voice. "A  _kindergarten_ teacher?"

Merlin shot him an earnest sort of look, and began butchering what sounded like Mozart's  
Sonata in D. Arthur winced, but suppressed the urge to push Merlin off his seat. They were not going to have The Mozart Argument again.

"I like children. They're cute. And fun," said Merlin, And not stuck-up classicalist prats," he added.

"Classicalist is not a word. Also, that's a terrible reason," said Arthur, "What a waste of-"

Merlin stopped playing.

"What do  _you_ want to be then?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest, expression like a wounded puppy.

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"Me."

Merlin rolled his eyes.

"I meant, where do you want to go. Europe? Touring?"

Arthur stared at him. Merlin had the uncanny way of disarming you with his idiotic smile and graceful playing before saying something so…perceptive, it made Arthur freeze inside. He stretched out his legs, leaning back in the chair, trying to disguise his surprise through pointless movement.

"Not exactly," he said, evasively.

"Why not?" pressed Merlin, sliding forward to perch on the edge of the piano stool, facing Arthur, "I'd thought you want to do a world tour – sell out the houses, be famous and all that."

"Well, I don't," said Arthur shortly. The thought of it, the thought of  _that –_ it was something he kept shut away, a dream too big to think about without aching. He stood up.

"Okay," said Merlin, backing down at the expression on Arthur's face. He pivoted around to face the piano again, hands already going to where they had left off. Arthur wondered if Merlin was like this all the time, drawn to the white-black keys like filing to magnet, moths to streetlamps.

"Stay for dinner," said Arthur abruptly, making his way towards the stairs that led down to his apartment below, "I don't want you passing out because you've been eating trash that has absolutely no nutritional value. You're skinny enough as it is."

"It's not tras- I'm not- You're just fat!" Merlin protested.

Arthur paused, one hand on the banister.

"And stop improvising. Practice your  _Polonaise_ ," he instructed sternly, and when Merlin let out an exaggerated moan of protest, he added, "Or I'll kick you out without any food."

Silence.

"Fine," said Merlin sulkily.

Arthur smiled to himself as the Chopin slowly trickled after him down the stairs.

Despite what Morgana often said, Arthur prided himself on being entirely self sufficient. He had to be – though he was by no means strapped for cash, he was a practical kind of person. He wasn't extravagant, even if he preferred the finer things in life. He earned enough to live on comfortably, but couldn't really afford to eat a restaurants for every meal. Plus, it would be completely unhealthy.

Hence, it was around these philosophies that Arthur taught himself how to cook. He had ordered a dozen recipe books off Amazon and bought all the needed ingredients from the local supermarket. Armed with a stop watch and measuring utensils, he had proceeded to make an utter mess of his new kitchen. Undeterred, though horrified by the mess, Arthur had persevered. With the addition of an apron, that is.

Now, he had perfect systems worked out for different kinds of dishes. The key was being prepared (like everything else in life) and Arthur began setting out the ingredients in the correct order along his kitchen bench. He set the oven to pre-heat, and began slicing the fresh baby carrots into perfect slices. He worked in silence, letting the routine sink into him, comforting. Cooking, like music, was a series of practiced motions, work and a fraction of intuition. Arthur didn't like relying on his intuition, it sounded vague and inaccurate. He preferred his stop watch and measuring cups.

With everything in place, Arthur turned on the stove.

 

:i:

The first time Merlin performed on stage, he was eight. His teacher (the fourth one in three years) had insisted he seize the opportunity and experience playing for an audience.

"What else is music for, young man?" he had said. "Your career starts now."

Merlin hadn't liked that teacher very much. He liked his first tutor, Ms. Lara who had seemed constantly surprised whenever Merlin played and gave him sweets and told him he was the best student she ever had. Six months in, however, she had had a Conversation with Merlin's mother and the next thing he knew, he didn't have lessons with Ms. Lara anymore. He had thrown a minor tantrum, refusing to touch the piano for two days before he caved in.

The first time Merlin performed on stage, he stopped.

He couldn't remember the details exactly, couldn't even remember what he had been playing (something by Mozart, something  _absolute perfection my boy, you can't get away with anything less!)_ only that his teacher was sitting in the front row with a frown on his face and his mother was sitting a few rows back and the stage lights were too bright. He didn't remember being nervous backstage. He remembered a girl sitting next to him (she was number six on the program, he was seven) who tapped out a metronome beat on the wooden floor. She had looked like she was about to cry, hands clutching music and a hot water bottle. Merlin remembered sharing his last kit-kat with her.

But then the stage had looked so  _big,_ a stretch of emptiness lit up white and yellow. The grand piano was much bigger than any piano Merlin had ever played before, and the keyboard didn't smile at him like his own piano did every morning. It looked serious and foreboding. Eight-year old Merlin gulped and tried to take off his bow-tie. The stage manager gave him an encouraging push onto the stage, and Merlin nearly fell on his face. By the time he got to the piano, he just wanted it to be  _over._

_You can't get away with anything less!_

And Merlin had shut down his brain, shut his eyes and played. His feet only just reached the pedals, unfamiliar and stiff. He didn't have the faintest notion of tempo, the piano sounding too loud, noise pouring out of the body like shivering waves. At some point, Merlin had opened his eyes, cringing at the light. Then he glanced into the audience, eyes drawn to his teacher and the thought of  _this is the bit that always goes –_

And Merlin had stopped.

Silence felt cold and hot, like a lie, like shame and guilt all rolled into one. It made his cheeks burn red as he sat there, lingering when he ran off the stage and the applause followed him into the wings. That feeling Merlin could still recall as vividly as the sound of shouting that came afterwards.

A week later, Hunith found Merlin a new piano teacher.

 

:i:

Washing his hands clean, Arthur dried them on the apron and hung said apron on a hook by the fridge. The oven was humming away and Arthur checked the digital clock above it – 20:35 minutes left. He decided go upstairs and make sure Merlin was practicing properly, perhaps run through the Rachmaninov with him to fix up those terrible mistakes.

Making sure to leave the door open so that any beeping from the oven would be heard from the studio, Arthur made his way slowly up the spiralling staircase. He paused half way up, frowning as the sound of the piano floating down from the studio. Arthur didn't know what it was, but it was definitely  _not_ Chopin. It sounded vaguely jazzy, like a musical, chords leapt ever which way. Arthur was about to stomp up the stairs as loudly as he could to tell Merlin off for being a lazy sod with no conviction before something else made him pause. He climbed a few more stairs, footsteps muffled by his socks. The music was clearer now.

And so was the  _singing._ Merlin was singing whilst playing Arthur's piano.

"… _whether I'm the rose of sheer perfection, a freckle on the nose of life's complexion, the cinder or the, shiny apple of its eyeeeeee,"_

Arthur took a few more steps up and he could see Merlin between the banisters, half off his seat, playing with so much movement it was a wonder he didn't fall off altogether. His hands were darting all over the keys, the sound vibrant and colourful in a way that Arthur's piano had never sounded like before. And Merlin…he was getting-

" _I gotta fly once, I gotta try once, Only can die once, right sir?"_

\- really quite carried away, as if he was on Broadway or something ridiculous. But Arthur could take his eyes off him, because Merlin had a  _truly amazing voice_. It made something in his chest tilt off-balance. Arthur slapped himself mentally. He took another few steps into the studio; Merlin sang on oblivious.

Arthur cleared his throat.

"… _don't bring around a cloud to rain on my pa-raaaaa_ AHHHHH _!"_

The piano made a blaring discord as Merlin jerked backwards in surprise.

"That. Was not Chopin."

Merlin gulped, and Arthur could see a flush rising up his neck, two points of colour appearing on his cheekbones. They stared at each other for a moment from across the room, Merlin's eyes wide like saucers, Arthur suitably radiating disapproval.

"Um," said Merlin. He looked genuinely embarrassed that Arthur had caught him singing. _Singing._ On reflection, it did seem a rather  _Merlin_  thing to do at the piano. That and sticking shiny stickers all over the keys, writing on music with coloured pens and other such atrocities. Arthur shuddered.

Merlin beamed at him for good measure.

To counteract the dimples, Arthur raised both eyebrows, swallowing. His mouth felt dry all of a sudden…from indignation at Merlin's gall, of course. His mouth was dry from indignation. Yes.

"Did you practice  _at all_  in the last hour?"

"Of course I did!" exclaimed Merlin. Arthur's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. Merlin dropped his gaze. "Once," he amended guiltily.

There was a moment of silence.

"Do I still get dinner?" asked Merlin, hopefully.

Arthur folded his arms.

"Are you going to cry if I say no?" he asked, grudgingly.

"I might," admitted Merlin, sniffing in an unsubtle fashion, "It smells niiiiiiice. Please? I'll practice later, promise."

"If you practice later, then you won't be able to catch a bus and I'll have to drop you off," said Arthur. "This is not weighing in your favour.

Merlin face dropped.

Arthur took a breath and then counted to ten. Leftovers were unhealthy, and he had made more than enough.

"You're washing up," he said, and was rewarded with a smile bright enough to light the entire east coast.

 

:i:

Over the course of three weeks, Arthur learned a lot about Merlin's habits – more than he would have liked. That was what he told himself when Merlin bought out yet another kit-kat bar on their way to the recording studio, a whole new red-wrapper clad disaster of sugar and wafer crumbs that was going to be caught in the leather or under the seat and cultivate an army of ants. Arthur glared resolutely at the red traffic light.

From his left, there came distinctive crunching noises. Merlin made a moan of appreciation.

"Do you always have to molest your food?" snapped Arthur, taking the right turn a little more sharply than was necessary. He gave himself a point when Merlin bounced off the window.

"Please drive safely," said Merlin, rubbing his shoulder, "Will does the fast-turny thing all the time. But without his seatbelt." And  _dammit_  if there wasn't a smudge of chocolate on the glass – Arthur was going to drive into a lamppost if Merlin contaminated anything else.

"I will if you stop eating in my car. Didn't you have breakfast?"

Merlin peeled back the wrapper a bit further and took another bite of kit-kat. He made a non-committal sort of noise, chewing.

"Merlin?" repeated Arthur, stern.

"Can't remember," said Merlin, swallowing. Arthur tried not to cringe as Merlin upended the empty wrapper, tipping all the stray crumbs into his palm (and all over his lap and onto the seat, oh, sweet jesus –  _ants ants ants!_ ) and proceeded to lick.

"It's barely nine! How can you not remember breakfast?" asked Arthur, "And I really hoped you washed your hands."

Merlin made a sad noise that signalled the kitkat bar and all its remains had been demolished.

"Yep," he said,vaguely, and Arthur gave up.

They sat in chocolate-scented silence for a while, until the car purred into the car-park ten minutes later. It was a crisp morning, stray leaves blown in trails of green and yellow across the sidewalk. Arthur slammed the car door shut, waiting impatiently for Merlin to gather his bag and Arthur's violin case.

"It's bloody heavy," Merlin complained, right on cue. He had said the same thing the last three sessions. "Why do you have a case made of iron and steel?"

He passed the case to Arthur who slung it over his back. They set off towards the main entrance, Merlin stopping to stamp on a dry, crunchy leaf. Arthur had to stamp down on a warm flutter in his stomach, the kind of feeling one gets when listening to perfect thirds played out in an orchestra. Arthur would have blamed it on bad food or indigestion, but his culinary skills were exceptional so neither was an option.

Merlin almost collided with the glass door in his enthusiasm to begin.

"Liszt today?" he asked, giving Arthur a truly idiotic smile.

"Yes," said Arthur, "and if you rush through it, I will personally castrate you."

Merlin's expression didn't so much as waver. In fact, Merlin smiled way more than could be possibly healthy. Arthur rolled his eyes, pulled the door open as Merlin valiantly pushed at the handle of the other one. The receptionist signed them in with little trouble, and soon they were stepping into the elevator again.

Merlin was humming the piano accompaniment under his breath, and Arthur could see the impression of his toes tapping out the pedal marks through his beaten sneakers. Arthur tried concentrating on Merlin's sneakers so he didn't have to think about zooming upwards in a metal container suspended by two sets of steel rigging. He watched Merlin's fingers dart over the fraying seam of his messenger bag, as if playing an imaginary keyboard.  _Merlin was like a child_ ,  _really_ , thought Arthur,  _a semi-quaver note_. He concentrated on the shape of Merlin's fingernails – pink and curved. There was the stain of ink on the side of his pinky finger, and the brown of chocolate on the pad of his thumb. Merlin was a seemingly endless, vibrating source of energy encased in nothing but skin and ears – until he fell over from sheer exhaustion. It was a wonder he could sit still enough to play anything slower than a minum equals ninety.

The lift chimed open.

"If  _la campanella_  gets done in one – unlike last time – let's try going through  _Winter._ "

"'Kay," said Merlin amiably, pushing open the heavy sound-proof door. Arthur glanced at his watch, and gave himself another point for managing to be on time even with Merlin's terrible tardiness. In the room that adjoined the corridor to the studio, the lights were already all on and Gawain was fiddling with the soundboard. A sterophone cup of black coffee steamed gently at his elbow and Arthur watched as Merlin gave an appreciative sniff.

"Hi!"

Gawain glanced up, and then pulled off his headphones.

"Hallo!" he said, "I've got everything mic'd already. Two hours?"

"At most," said Arthur, "So long as Merlin doesn't  _forget the tempo markings_."

Merlin folded his arms.

"You play like a robot!" Arthur opened the studio door. "Thanks," said Merlin. "But you do! You play like you have a metronome up your arse. It's my job to nudge you along, and I barely do that because you get so grumpy about it all."

Gawain choked on a mouthful of coffee.

"You have no discipline," Arthur shot back. "Sloppy."

Merlin rolled his eyes, dumping his bag by the wall. Arthur Plushie's arm was poking out of a side pocket.

"At least I can smile while I'm playing," said Merlin, flopping onto the piano stool. Arthur stepped over the sound wires taped to the floor and began unpacking his violin. There was a large pane of glass which partitioned the recording studio off. It was just like any other studio, but Arthur could never quite get used to the way the walls and ceiling sucked the sound away. It was somehow worse than being in a lift – he could feel the difference like the air had grown too heavy to breathe. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, and realised belatedly that Merlin had been talking.

"…so it's really not my fault you're so nervous and stiff and stuff."

Arthur slid on his shoulder-rest with a smooth, practiced movement, tucking the violin beneath his chin. It felt comfortable there, and the curve and shape of the instrument had long since worn a matching dip in Arthur's neck. At least, that's what it felt like – the bow an extension of his fingers, the body of the violin vibrating with breath he took. He felt better already.

"I'm not the one who got stage fright," said Arthur. He watched a blush appear high on Merlin's cheekbones and ran a scale up three octaves. He glanced back at the piano, Merlin was staring at his hands, smile gone. Arthur frowned.

"For heaven's sake, don't sulk."

"I'm not," said Merlin, but he didn't look up. A moment passed. "Should I play with the music then?"

Arthur sighed.

"Y- No. I don't know, do what you like. Just –  _look_ and follow me alright? Remember, you're my  _accompanist."_

Merlin ran a finger up and down C sharp.

"I still think you play too slowly on those harmonics."

Arthur poked him with the tip of his bow.

"Well, that's lovely, because I don't  _care._ "

Merlin glared at his reflection in the piano.

He muttered something underneath his breath.

"Yes?" asked Arthur, pointedly pressing a deliberate A on the piano to tune to.

"I said right," said Merlin.

And this utterly unprofessional banter would have continued had Gawain not knocked on the glass with his knuckles, coffee in hand. Arthur glared at Merlin for good measure.

"Warm up," he said, "Last theme."

 

/embed Liszt La Campanella SNIPPET

As usual, the peace didn't last very long.

"How many times do have to tell you?" shouted Arthur, "Not to slow down? You're dragging me back! Stop dragging it!"

Merlin glared at him over the top of the piano, arms folded definitely in front of him. Arthur had put his violin down in favour of running his hands through his hair in exasperation – they had stumbled over the same phrase over and over because Merlin refused to just _do as instructed._ Morgana never gave him this sort of trouble.

"It sounds absolutely rubbish the way you're doing it!"

Arthur almost choked on his tongue.

"Excuse me?  _Rubbish?_  That would be because you're putting things in that  _aren't there._ "

"It needs to  _rall_! It needs to  _rall_ , can't you feel it?" Merlin gesticulated wildly, almost knocking over the microphone.

"No! As a matter of fact, I can't  _feel it._ And you're supposed to following me! It's in your job description, so  _do it_."

"I won't."

Arthur wanted to strangle something. He clenched and unclenched his fist, slowly.

"We didn't have this problem yesterday – why are you defaulting now, you useless-"

"Yesterday you gave me food!" snapped Merlin, before clapping a hand to his mouth.

"JESUS CHRIST ARE YOU A PROFESSIONAL OR NOT?"

"YOU'RE PLAYING LIKE A METRONOME!" Merlin shouted bac,k and Arthur could see his ears going red. His face was scrunched up as if smelling something particularly disgusting. "It sounds terrible: it's killing me! Killing! Death!"

Arthur slammed a hand down on the piano lid, making Merlin jump.

"Well maybe you should-"

"Er…gents?"

Both Merlin and Arthur froze. Gawain stood in the doorway, headphones slung around his neck. He looked apologetic and amused the same time, one hand fiddling with the button of his pen.

"I don't really mind if you need to sort out…uh, artistic differences," he said, glancing from one to another, "But could you stop shouting into the microphone?"

Arthur took a deep, calming breath.

"Sorry," he said. He counted to five,  _crochet equals forty_.

Gawain shut the door, and they watched him settle back into this swivel chair, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. There was a moment of sound-proofed, stilled-air silence, too loud in the aftermath of outbursts. Arthur felt vaguely put out.

"It just it sounds like you're on auto-pilot," said Merlin finally, "And it's…weird."

"The critics are going to pick this apart, Merlin," said Arthur, passing a hand over his face, "If anything is wrong-"

"Who cares about what they think?" asked Merlin, sounding genuinely perplexed.

Arthur slapped his palm to forehead.

"I am not even going to answer that question."

"Arthur, Rubenstein plays wrong notes. He hums. He hums! The last time I hummed, you hit me!"

Arthur snorted."I didn't hit you. And you were out of tune."

"Rubenstein was-"

"But you're not internationally acclaimed, are you?"

"At least I enjoy what I'm playing," said Merlin.

"Be quiet," snapped Arthur, and Merlin did. It was such a surprise, Arthur almost looked around. Almost.

He could feel Merlin watching him, could see wide earnest eyes in his peripheral vision. It was plain disconcerting the way Merlin switched from idiotic to annoying to sincere and back again.

"I just – I don't have time for this."

He picked up his violin.

"I appreciate the…input, but please just follow my lead. Alright?"

Merlin's baleful look made Arthur feel a little guilty. Only a little because goodness, did Merlin really have no idea about status? Violinist trumps accompanist, Arthur trumps everyone else.

"You really shouldn't care what they think."

Arthur wiped his hands on the white cloth he kept nearby, so his hands wouldn't stain the fingerboard.

"I mean, it's not like they're going to take this CD and rip it apart, right?" Merlin continued, "Critics have a life too."

Arthur gave him a long, steadying stare. Merlin sighed, placing his hands back onto the keyboard.

"Please don't stop me again, my arms are sore."

" _Merlin."_

"Fine."

Perhaps it was Arthur's imagination, but as the music built, swelled up inside both of them like the moon pulling on ocean waves…the tide slowed. The bass in the piano rumbled softly, in a way that only Merlin could manage, coloured like pastels smudged with water and it  _pulled,_ Arthur could feel the inevitable coming when Merlin didn't even look up, forgot or simply did not care despite Arthur having just told him a moment ago –

He closed his eyes and leaned into the next phrase, and kept going.

When they had finished (five minutes thirty six seconds), Gawain gave them the thumbs up through the window.

 

:i:

Merlin learned that Arthur never drank coffee before practicing the violin. In fact, he never seemed to drink coffee at all, instead living on water (no ice) or some sort of juice. Arthur also had the odd habit of tightening and untightening his bow, never leaving it wound if he was going to be absent for more than a few minutes. His fingers would deftly twist about the silver-turtle shell ending,  _twisttwisttwist_  and the hairs of the bow would loosen around the middle.

Merlin also learned that Arthur subscribed to every single musical magazine imaginable – there were neat stacks of them on the shelf and on the coffee table in his studio. Merlin wondered if this was part of the obsession with critics, but never dared to ask. The covers looked so glossy, he didn't open them either, simply stared at the shiny pictures of oboes and violins and pianos on the cover. He thought about Googling Arthur's name because the internet would tell him more about Arthur than Arthur would, but every time he opened his laptop to do so, Arthur Plushie would give him a very disapproving sort of look and he would have to click out of his browser guiltily.

He learned that Arthur was the most anal retentive perfectionist ever in the whole history of anal retentive people. He was also the most stubborn, stuck-up, insistent prat that made music so  _stressful._ But he looked really, really endearing when wearing an apron.

"Is it done yet?" asked Merlin, peering hopefully into the door of the oven. He could feel the yellow warm glow radiating off his face, the smell of baking bread making his chest feel like it was full of helium. At the bench, Arthur was preparing fresh, crunchy-sounding vegetables whilst tomato soup simmered on the stove.

"You can't rush cuisine," said Arthur, "Like you can't  _rush Vivaldi, Merlin."_

Merlin shrugged, perching himself back on his usual stool.

"We've gone over it a million-"

"three," corrected Arthur.

"-a million times," continued Merlin, swinging his legs in the air, "I'm glad to finish."

Arthur gave him a look, eyebrows angled down. He had a stainless steel knife in his hand and had flour on his nose, expression was such a perfect replica of his mini-me that Merlin snorted with laughter, then proceeded to hack out a lung.

"Oh- not in front of the food! Merlin!"

"- so- rry!" said Merlin, spluttering, "You look funny."

"Well, you look worse," said Arthur lamely, turning back to his chopping. _Swish_ chop _swish_ chop. The pieces of unidentifiable green vegetable fell down in identical crescent pieces, like pauses over crochets. Merlin always thought pauses looked like Gaius' eyebrows when he was telling someone off.

He giggled. It was probably all the alcoholic fumes from the baking bread making him hyper – that and the prospect of food. The one definite unpratly thing about Arthur was his cooking – it was remarkable how patient he was when surrounded his food when he was all stress and more stress when surrounded by quavers. In fact, Arthur's cooking could probably redeem his Pratliness completely, if the little perfect lumps- "when I say measure, Merlin, I mean  _measure_. With the scale!"- of bread-things were anything to go by.

Merlin pressed the timer button on the oven. It read 00:03. 00:02. 00.01.

"IT'S DONE!" shouted Merlin.

"Jes- _shit!"_ exclaimed Arthur and there was a clatter as he dropped the knife into the sink. Merlin spun around, startled because Arthur didn't swear very often and-

Arthur was clutching his left index finger, which was stained red with –

Merlin's eyes widened, heart beginning to thud at the sight of red. Red on Arthur.

"Oh my god- Arthur.  _Arthur,_ I'm so sorry-"

"Don't yell when someone is holding a knife, you bloody idiot!" snapped Arthur, shaking his hand, " _Ow_."

Merlin flung open the nearest cupboard, nearly whacking himself out in the process.

"Where are the band-aids? Where do you keep the band-aids? Do you need bandages? Do you need the hospital? Oh, my god, did you chop off your finger?"

"Band-aids are in my bedroom, not in the . Merlin, stop it; you'll mess up my spices."

Merlin stumbled past the breakfast stools.

"Okay, sorry! Sorry! Where's your bedroom? I'll get them – just don't bleed to death!"

Arthur grabbed his arm.

"Look, it's not serious. I'll get the stupid band-aid. You just – sit down and don't go near the knives, okay?"

Merlin stared at Arthur's finger – he could see the rim of the cut, bled white and the blood staining the finger, a trickle of it spiralling down towards the knuckle. He swallowed several times.

"Does it hurt?"

Arthur whacked him over the head with his right hand.

"Yes it hurts! Now let go of my hand, if you please, so I don't get an infection in this finger. This will be terrible considering I have a recital in a fortnight."

Merlin let go of Arthur's hand. Arthur stormed out of the kitchen. Merlin stared at the smidgen of blood on his finger. His palm tingled from the warmth of Arthur's skin.

Ten minutes later: "Are you sure it's going to be alright?" asked Merlin, glancing at Arthur's hand. He pulled another piece of bread apart, fiddling.

Arthur set down his spoon on the side of his plate.

"Merlin, if you ask me that again, I will behead you."

"Sorry," said Merlin.

Arthur sighed, "It's going to make vibrato and harmonics a right pain, but it's too bad. Stop looking like I died."

"I'm really sorry," said Merlin earnestly.

Arthur picked up his spoon again, dipping it back into the soup.

"So you've said. Now shut up and eat, you look like a starved homeless person."

Merlin was feeling too guilty to even talk back so he just shrugged and kept eating. He really loved Arthur's bread-roll-lump things; they were crunchy (and a little burnt because of the hand-cutting incident) on the outside, but airy and wonderfully soft on the inside. Merlin had broken his apart and nearly finished eating the soft bits. It was much nicer than microwave bread-rolls that he sometimes bought because they were easy to heat. Merlin chewed.

"And for heaven sake," said Arthur, "Will you stop disembowelling my  _ciabatta_?"

Merlin blinked at him.

"What batter? There's batter?"

 

:i:

"You know that horrid Britten thing you're playing with the orchestra?"

" _Mer_ lin. How many times do I-"

"Okay. So it's not horrid. Much. But I still think you're over compensating."

"I do not over compensate! It's a concert, not some private doodle on the instrument."

"Well, I was thinking…"

Arthur gave him a highly doubtful sort of look. Merlin beamed.

"I had a listen to it. Want to run through with a piano-ized version?" he said, then for the sake of Arthur's pride added, "I want to hear it."

The smile he got in return was worth every prattish insult that came afterwards.

/EMBED BRITTEN CONCERTO w/ PIANO

 

:i:

Soon, Merlin forgot what life without Arthur was like.

Well no, he didn't exactly forget – but it was hard to imagine how he had plodded along so aimlessly for the last few years. Everything was just a list of neat print on a syllabus, a little pointless and a lot of fun – but Merlin had never noticed the aimlessness before now. He could sense it when he improvised in spare afternoons, Mozart and Wolfgang chattering quietly in the background. He could feel Arthur's presence in the melody of the right hand, long and lyrical and measured, pushing everything towards the end, the _conclusion_. Merlin had never felt like this before, this urge for something indefinable, something more than just a new idea translated into music.

Before Arthur, he could let his hands wander for hours and hours, mistakes and tripped notes turned into a different melody. If something went wrong, he simply changed direction, modulating the minors and majors like the sun going behind a patch of cloud. _Now –_ now it was like listening to Arthur play inside his head, determined and strong and focused with a beginning middle and end. Endings were strange, double-barred things. Sometimes with repeats, other times not. Sometimes there was a rest before the end, a pause before the end, silence.

Arthur was like an ending. He  _felt_ like an ending, the sound of a journey coming home, the feel of a seventh going to a five. He was warmth and friendship and golden, he was the last bar where two became one. He was music in a strange, precise and intense way. Arthur felt like an ending, because endings took Merlin's breath away.

Before Arthur, Merlin had left home because his mother wanted him to "do something worthwhile." It didn't matter that he just wanted to teach music at the local kindergarten – Hunith had been determined that Merlin make something more of life. Sometimes Merlin wondered if his mother was afraid. Afraid that he wouldn't leave a mark on anything other than an imprint of sound inside a dusty piano. Afraid of Merlin leaving, so she sent him away.

Merlin didn't dwell on endings – he let his right hand take him by its whims, sometimes the cello would play in the background. Brahms, Chopin and he would push and pull and improvise because it was the point of everything, wasn't it? Bar lines as straight as the crosses on the calendar, marking days like fingering annotated in above the notes: 1, 3, 4, 5, 5, 2, 2, 3, 1, 4, 3, 4, 5, 4, 5, 4, 3, 2.

Waiting.

Life didn't wait.

 

:i:

"What are you playing for the recital?" asked Will, settling himself into the library chair next to Merlin's table. Merlin glanced at him and had to move a stack of books out of the way to see his face properly.

"Um, not sure yet," he said, distracted. The rubber on the end of this pencil was nearly all gone. He would have to get a new one. "Kinda busy with all this." He waved a hand over the crumpled manuscript paper and theory notes by his elbow. Arthur Plushie was acting as a paper weight, keeping the "in" pile in place, his plushie hands smudged with the graphite of Merlin's pencils.

"Composition class?" said Will, pulling a sheaf of papers towards him. Merlin snatched them out of his hand.

"Don't look! Go away."

"I brought you some lemon ice tea," said Will, settling a plastic bottle on the desk.

Merlin bit his lip and set down his pencil with a sigh, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm.

"Thanks," he said, reaching for the bottle. It was wet with condensation; a faint circle left on his lopsided semiquavers. "You're a star."

"I know," said Will, propping his shoes on the library table. Merlin took a long sip from the bottle, savouring the taste of slightly bitter lemon tea sliding down his throat. Then he recapped it and put it aside, picking up his pencil and writing in another bar.

"It's kinda strange seeing you behind books instead of a piano lid," said Will.

Merlin snorted.

"That's why this is due tomorrow and I'm not done yet," he said, "Been too busy practicing with Arthur."

"You should be concentrating on your own  _stuff,_ " said Will, "Example: recital at the end of term."

Merlin rubbed his left eye again, trying to massage the ache that was building in his temples. He had been in the library virtually all afternoon, and the lack of piano playing was making his fingers itch and back hurt. He wanted to go back to his flat and practice the pieces for the C.D – his own ones. Arthur had said he couldn't make the sessions next week because of dress rehearsals with the orchestra. So Merlin was going to record his solo tracks then. The thought made him both nervous and excited at the same time: a recording!

"…still playing with me, right?"

"Um, yes?" said Merlin, trying to catch up.

Will was looking at him with a frown on his face, and Merlin pretended to be immersed in his composition. He wrote  _rubato_ above the violin solo just because he could, and he wondered if he should start composing in squares and rectangles and scribbles across the page. Arthur would have a  _fit._

"Are you okay?" asked Will, poking Merlin in the shoulder. "You look a bit pale."

"That's because I've been inside all day," said Merlin, not looking up from the page.

"I've never seen you work this hard. It's disturbing."

Merlin chewed his pencil thoughtfully.

"Gaius says I'm finding my  _purpose."_

"I think you've caught swine flu," said Will with a straight face. Then he snagged Merlin's tea and took a gulp, ignoring Merlin's reproachful glare.

" _Everyone's_  always telling me to work harder. I'm working harder!"

"Yes, but you have you looked in a mirror lately? You have bags under your eyes! When are you getting to bed?"

Merlin gave up on his composition. Will was obviously in one of his moods, and Merlin probably wouldn't get any peace for the next half an hour even if he ignored the presence of his best friend. He turned around in his seat.

"I'm just really busy these past few weeks, k' Will? Just – so much music, so little time, you know? Plus if  _Arthur_  has been complaining less so it must mean I'm definitely improving. Right?"

"So long as you're taking all your meds," said Will, loud enough for a passing student to cast them both a doubtful look. Merlin kicked Will's foot under the table, but Will kept going. "Did you go to the hospital on Thursday?"

Thursday. Merlin had been with Arthur in the studio on Thursday, having a particularly lengthy discussion about performers' discretion and then zooming through three of Arthur's pieces with surprising speed. Gawain had been impressed.

"Yes," Merlin lied. Will raised both his eyebrows. Merlin widened his eyes and tried to look innocently affronted.  _Waste of time,_ a voice in the back of his mind said,  _He had no time to waste. All those hours could be dedicated to something worthwhile. And less expensive._

"You better," said Will gruffly. A moment passed in silence.

"Are you going to let me work now? Have you got the mothering thing out of your system?"

"Mothe- I'm just- I'm a good friend and look at the sort of repayment I-" Will's hair quivered with indignation. "Finish your tea!"

Merlin smirked, twisting the bottle cap between his fingers. He loved iced tea. It was more sugar and juice than anything, but the smell of it lingered in the plastic bottle for days after the drink was gone. Merlin liked uncapping and sniffing the scent every now and then, savouring it. He finished the last third of the tea in one long swallow, tipping back on his chair to chase the last drops caught on the rim.

"I love you too," said Merlin, and Will whacked him around the shoulder.

"And stop skipping master classes, you delinquent," Will said, standing up, "Pendragon is just a phase the world is going through. You should focus on your own career."

"Arthur isn't a phase!" said Merlin, leaping to Arthur's defence without second thought, "He's very good. A stupid O.C.D Prat, but very good!"

"Whatever," said Will, flipping him the finger, "I'll come pick you up around five. You are not sitting in here all night."

"Will.  _Will,_ I can catch the bus! And I have work!  _Will!_ "

The problem with working on minimum wage and being a student was that there really wasn't much money. Not having money didn't usually bother Merlin. He had everything he really wanted, except perhaps perfect health, but you couldn't be greedy in life. However, the fact that his apartment was so damp during rainy seasons was  _really, really problematic._

He played the white key again, morosely. It was meant to be an "E" but there was a distinct flat twang to the note that got worse towards the middle register.

"Poor baby," said Merlin, running a hand over the music stand. Rain pelted the window, and the light bulb flickered once, twice before settling. Arthur Plushie was tucked in his lap and a blanket draped around his own shoulders.

"Maybe it's time to get the piano tuner in. Again."

The "E" gave a pitiful sort of  _twang._ In the corner, the one of the budgies gave a particularly loud squawk beneath the cage cover. It was an old towel Merlin didn't use anymore, and acted as the night/thermos blanket for the budgies in winter. It was all this concrete, keeping the warmth away. No wonder his piano was dying.

"I'll phone Eric tomorrow, promise," said Merlin, trying to remember how much he had in his bank account. Enough for two dozen packets of ramen and a piano tuner. Probably. Morgause usually gave him dinner, so it should all work out fine. Shifting on his seat, he put Arthur Plushie on top of a pile of music scores and turned back to the keys, rubbing his fingers to get them warm and relaxed. He was tired from a night playing pointless melodies in La Grande Echell. He was tired from trying to keep a wandering tempo and melody in the right hand: instead he made tinkling versions of Arthur's Bach and Vivaldi. It made him feel warm, to imagine the Arthur with the violin.

Merlin's heart beat steadily, loud in the quiet of the evening. It was like being stuck with a metronome inside you, counting away. And the only way to change the speed was to dive into the music so deep the breathing hitched and heart raced with the thrill of it all.

He took a deep breath, mentally counting the empty bottles in the bathroom. He was running low on…something. Something.

Rachmaninov sounded lovely with the rain.

 

:i:

"It is abstract  _trash,"_ said Uther Pendragon, "Cut it."

"With all respect, sir-" Arthur began, but his father wouldn't hear of it.

"No. I won't' have you setting yourself up as some new age artist who won't last a week into next year. Cut it out of the repertoire, they can't play without you."

"They'll simply ask someone else!" Protested Arthur, "And how will that look?"

"Like you know what you're doing. Cut it."

Arthur steeled himself, thinking of exhilaration and notes and, oddly, Merlin saying _metronome!_

"No," he said.

 

:i:

Theatres were world of their own.

Arthur sat in the audience, letting the sound of fifths – dischordant in every voice – blur over his face. The sound of an orchestra tuning up. It had the same calming effect every time he heard it, even though he couldn't say why, exactly. His violin was already unpacked, sitting on the stage next to the conductor's stand. The lead violinist – a man named Leon – was currently writing something on his score.

"Right! We have the soloist here with us today, so let's not waste another minute." The conductor tapped the metal edge of his stand, and the woodwinds died down to silence. Arthur took this as his cue to stand, vaulting over the edge of the stage. He could hear mutters, whispering. He picked up his violin, tightening the bow single-handedly. The conductor made a little bow in his direction.

"Mr. Arthur Pendragon, who needs no introduction, I'm sure. An  _A_  please, Larrissa."

Immediately, there was an A – something pure and unadulterated that only an oboe could achieve. Arthur tuned, quick deft harmonics. He shook hands with Leon.

"We'll cut from the  _tutti_ ," said the conductor, rolling up his sleeves. Arthur gave a single nod and the baton was raised. There was a scrape as a cello readjusted its spoke on the stage. Like rustling of leaves before a storm, the orchestra quietened. Arthur breathed it in.

It was the highest form of art, of signals, communication,  _strategy._ As the conductor brought his hand down on  _one,_ every note fell instantly into place. It was something controlled yet exhilarating, the way each voice matched yet did not, seconds and perfect thirds. The house lights were on, but Arthur could imagine the theatre hushed and full of people, faces layered in thick shadow as the stage lights burned hot on the face. He tucked the violin beneath his chin, like slotting a puzzle home.

He loved this; loved hearing his own violin soar on top of it all, singular yet intimately enclosed within the sound. Merlin would pull here, even in this third bar, he would pull then push, just to hear the emotions rush out of the bass in a swirl of notes –

Arthur did something he never did whilst playing.

He let go.

 

:i:

Morgana had somehow managed to con Arthur into going out for dinner.

"But I'm-"

"Busy," she interrupted, "When are you ever not busy? Suck it up, a few hours spent relaxing won't hurt."

Arthur gritted his teeth.

"I have a practice scheduled with my accompanist," he lied.

"Not anymore you don't. Get dressed, I'm picking you up in five."

"Y- Morgana! I said I'm not coming!"

"And I said I don't care!" replied Morgana, "See you soon, brother dear."

Dailtone.

"Argh!" exclaimed Arthur, snapping his cellphone shut and stuffing it into his pocket. The truth was, he had been frustrated all day; music going round and round and coming nowhere. He had messed up on a particularly difficult double stopping passage that he mastered  _yesterday_ and hence it would be now doomed in his subconscious until he managed to do it consecutively in perfection. At least five times.

But that was no longer an option tonight because Morgana had decided she wanted to go out for dinner with someone who wouldn't be rude enough to turn her down. (That's what Arthur told himself, anyway). Sighing, he began packing his violin back into its case. He gave the fingerboard a quick wipe with the cloth, running the pad of his thumb over the e-string where the gold had worn down. It would need replacing soon, and Arthur wanted at least two days breaking in the new string before he had to perform or record. Another point for the to-do list tomorrow.

Zipping the case shut, Arthur made his way down the stairs and into this apartment. Setting the violin down by the door, he went to his bedroom in order to change into something that was more comfortable. Merlin was always complaining about Arthur's "lack of variation" – whatever that meant.

He rifled through the coat hangers, red-shirt, red-shirt, red-shirt, red-shirt, blue. Taking out the blue shirt on whim, Arthur selected a dark grey blazer jacket at random and after a moment of deliberation, decided to veto the tie.

Eight minutes later, the doorbell rang. Before Morgana could proceed to knock the door down, Arthur slid back the catch and opened it.

"Oh good, you're ready. Let's go then," she said, looking completely overdressed in a shimmering blue cocktail dress and satin heels. She was also wearing the pearl earrings Arthur had bought for her last birthday, and tugged him out of his apartment by the sleeve.

"We match – how cute," said Morgana, as they stepped into the lift.

"If you say so," said Arthur, drly.

"Oh, don't look so sour Arthur," said Morgana, pouting at him, "You'll love the place I've picked out. They have absolutely  _heavenly_ shellfish. And I know how much you love seafood, so don't complain."

Arthur shrugged.

"You're paying, since you forced me to come."

Morgana tutted. The lift  _dinged_ open and Arthur stepped gratefully into the brightly lit foyer. Morgana's heels went  _click click click_ on the patterned marble floor.

"Chivalry is dead," said Morgana, "But since I'm such a caring sister, I forgive you."

Ten minutes later, Morgana's yellow Mercedez pulled up outside  _La Grande Echelle_. Arthur got out and opened the door for her.

"Thanks, darling," cooed Morgana, and Arthur raised an eyebrow.

He offered his arm. "Shall we?"

"Hm. Yes, it seems your father did bring you up alright."

"The seafood had better be  _fantastic,"_ said Arthur grimly, leading them across the street.

"Astronomically," Morgana promised. The doors tinkled when Arthur pushed it open, and he was immediately engulfed with the smell of food; subtle differences of the various dishes and open wine bottles around the room. In the centre of the room, a piano played Chopin and Arthur smiled despite himself.

"Reservation for  _Le Fey,"_ said Morgana to the maître d', sliding her coat from her shoulders. Arthur dutifully took it from her, whilst rolling his eyes. The man inclined his head after consulting a short list.

" _Le Fey_ \- yes, right this way, Ma'am. Sir."

He led them over to a table for two on the far side of the piano, setting down two leather-bound menus. Arthur let Morgana order the entrée and wine, leaning back in his seat whilst surveying the restaurant around him. The whole place was authentic renaissance décor. Small chandeliers hung from frescoed ceiling, bathing the room in a soft warm glow. Around him, patrons were eating, low chatter providing a backdrop to the piano. It was playing something familiar – a romantic sort of melody that wound lazily through the air. Arthur tilted his head, listening for a moment before recognising what it was. He had played it for that first recital with Merlin, a Bach partita that was never meant to be played with a piano. But it sounded just as beautiful now, notes clear like drops of water. It was a little melancholy for the atmosphere, but Arthur found himself a mesmerised. Unconsciously, he tapped out the fingering on his palm, an imaginary violin.

"…thur?"

Arthur blinked. Morgana was looking at him strangely across the table.

"Sorry," he said, "I was…distracted."

Morgana smiled, but it wasn't her usual cunning-malicious expression.

"What do you want for the main course?"

Arthur quickly flipped open his own menu, turning a page and scanning quickly down the list.

"I'll have the  _Coquille St. Jacques_ ," he said, " Morgana?"

"I've already ordered," she said.

The waiter made a few notes on his pad and disappeared. The pianist had moved on to playing some renderation of Beethoven.

"So how is everything?" asked Morgana, sipping water.

"Nothing exciting," Arthur replied, "How's your hand?"

"Therapy is a bore, but coming along. I hear you're recording with Tall Poppies…or is that just a rumour?"

Arthur raised both eyebrows.

"How do you know about  _that_?"

Morgana laughed, tinkling. "Oh, your face. I know everything, sweetheart."

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I'm sure you do. Do me a favour though, won't you? Don't tell Father before the sessions are finished."

"Why, I'm offended," said Morgana in mock outrage, "Who do you think I am?"

"Someone looking for blackmail material," answered Arthur promptly.

Morgana sniffed.

"I take the trouble to ensure you don't become a hermitted psychopath and all you can do is spout slander. I want some of your lobster dish, by the way."

Arthur played with the stem of his wine glass. In the centre of the room, the piano continued to play. When the entrée arrived – delicate pea green soup that smelt delicious – Arthur could see the silhouette of a profile, someone skinny and dark-haired at the keyboard. It was just for a brief moment, then the pianist shifted back and was hidden again.

It was half way through his main-course that Arthur realised that the pianist had played his entire repertoire, bits and pieces, from start to finish.

:i:

Merlin was improving on a Chopin theme when someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was so unexpected he jerked his hands from the keyboard, spinning around and falling off the stool.

"I beg your par-  _Merlin_?"

Merlin stared up at the last person he expected to see, eyes wide with surprise. Arthur. _Arthur._

"Um," he said, articulately.

Arthur's handsome face was crinkled in confusion. He was wearing a blue shirt that matched the colour of his eyes, a deep sea blue. It made his skin look flawless, and Merlin gulped, feeling a constriction in his chest.

"What are you doing here?" asked Arthur.

They were still staring at each other, and Merlin noticed the hush that accompanied every lapse of music.

"I work here?" he said. It sounded more like a question than an answer.

Arthur's eyebrows shot up into his hairline and he said, a little incredulously:

"You  _work_ here?  _Here_?"

The tone of disbelief in his voice was like a slap to the face and Merlin blinked, still trying to piece  _Arthur_ and  _place without Arthur_ together in his head.

"Yes," he said curtly, "I'm sorry if that's below your expectations or something, you  _Prat._ "

"What?" said Arthur, eyebrows still raised, "I didn't say that. I'm just…surprised, that's all. Shouldn't you be focusing on your recitals or something?"

And there it was: the difference between the two of them that stretched like a gulf. Merlin wanted to laugh because Arthur was  _telling him to focus on his schoolwork_ whilst Merlin was trying to save enough money to pay the electricity bill or he'll have to eat the ramen dry for a month. It wasn't that he didn't love  _La Grande Echelle_ – he  _did_. But it was obvious Arthur thought playing as background music was below him.

Merlin pushed back the piano stool, standing up.

"Merlin-"

"Sorry, I have to go," said Merlin, closing the piano lid with a snap. He could feel people looking, pauses like pockets of silence in the percussion of silverware.

"Look, I didn't mean to offend you or anything," said Arthur, sounding annoyed now, "Didn't expect to see you here. I just noticed the way you were butchering those pieces and wondered who it was-"

Merlin shrugged, trying for nonchalance.

"Enjoy your dinner, Arthur."

"Merlin. Wait-"

Merlin made a beeline for the back of the restaurant, slipping through the door before Arthur could grab him by the arm. He breathed a sigh of relief – then jumped when the door opened again and Arthur was there, looking definitely annoyed now.

"God, you're making a huge fuss out of nothing. I simply asked you a question!"

Merlin rounded the corner of the corridor, Arthur following just behind. Perhaps he was overreacting, he probably was overreacting but the look on Arthur's  _face._ Merlin had never felt so out of his depth.

"It's just – I never expected you to be wasting time like this! You're better than-"

Merlin wheeled around.

"Just shut up and go eat your overpriced food, Arthur!"

"Well  _excuse me-"_

"Get out of my kitchen!" commanded Morgause, appearing next to Merlin with a very large steak knife in her hand, "What on earth are you doing back here? Can you not read English? The door said  _staff only._ " She turned to Merlin with an equally ferocious glare.

"And Mister Emrys, I do not appreciate you slipping out here with your boyfriend to do whatever it is you wanted to do in the rest room. Get back in there and play something LESS FRENCH. Do you hear? Or don't you even  _think_ about eating dessert."

Merlin gulped.

"But-"

"Get back in there!" she snapped, then turned on her heels and marched back into a cloud of steam. A stream of muttered French floated back. It was probably profanities. Merlin stared after her, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Reluctantly, he turned back towards the doorway. But Arthur wasn't there.


	7. SEVEN

:i:

 _ **Music is love in search of a word.**_ **  
**Sidney Lanier

:i:

It had been nearly a week since he last saw Merlin. Their next scheduled session at the recording studio wasn't until Monday and Arthur had spent blissful, routine,  _normal_ days drilling his entire repertoire from top to bottom, beginning with etudes and scales. He could remember one of his Father's favourite repetitions:  _technique makes perfect, Arthur. Without technique, you're nothing._

He tried to concentrate on that, instead of the expression on Merlin's face when Arthur said:  _You work here?_  The little idiot had no right to throw such a tantrum anyway. It wasn't like Arthur had been insulting him anyway, he was just…surprised. And now Merlin wasn't answering his phone and Arthur was  _sick_ of feeling the uncomfortable guilt that had been following him around like a stomach ache for the last couple of days. Knowing Merlin, this sulk would probably ruin all their future sessions if it wasn't resolved because he was utterly unprofessional. That and the radio silence and lack of Merlin and his music were making Arthur feel out of sorts. It was utterly ridiculous.

Arthur glanced out the window, where the sun was just dipping into darkness, windows reflecting orange and red. Merlin should be back at his sty of a flat by now.

Fifteen minutes later, Arthur was parking his car outside Merlin's apartment building. It was because he was a person with honour and decency, he told himself, he was the _mature person_  who was going to apologise for something that was definitely not his fault. The show must go on.

Arthur pushed the door open into an unlit lobby, where the only light was the glowing cubes of colour that displayed the elevator floors. He suddenly realised he wasn't sure which floor Merlin's apartment was. Had he actually ever been in there sober? Arthur deliberated, feeling more foolish by the minute. This was pointless – why was he even here in the first place?

The cubes began lighting up in reverse order as the lift descended: 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 – the doors slid open, and an old man shuffled out.

"Excuse me, sir," said Arthur politely.

The man kept going, as if he didn't hear Arthur at all.

"Sir?" said Arthur, a little louder and tapped the man on the shoulder. The man turned around.

"What?" he said in a volume that told Arthur he was probably a little deaf.

"Do you happen to know which floor Merlin Emrys lives?" asked Arthur.

"How should I know?" demanded the man, "Banging away on that blasted instrument day and night, it isn't normal I tell you! Can't a man get to sleep around here?"

And with that, he shuffled out onto the street.

Arthur blinked, turning back to the lift. Pausing for a moment, he stepped into it and pressed the number  _7,_ guessing that if the man had just descended for floor 6, then it was probably most likely that Merlin was on the floor above. Hopefully. Arthur counted the seconds as the lift rose with a rattling hum, and tried not to think about how it probably hadn't been maintained in over a decade and there was no security to rescue him if something jammed or snapped or-

The lift came to a unsteady stop, doors sliding open and Arthur stepped out. There were two doors on this floor. One had "36" in faded brass lettering. The other read "3_", the quaver note coloured in with what looked like black sharpie. There were also music staves running the entire perimeter of the doorframe, with what looked like "twinkle twinkle little star" inked in. Sparkly star stickers adorned the doorknob. Arthur had no doubt this was Merlin's apartment.

He knocked.

No answer.

"Merlin?" he called, rapping again with his knuckles.

No answer. Arthur refused to put his ear to the door. He had to draw the line somewhere. If Merlin didn't open in the net three minutes, he was either out or still sulking. Either way, Arthur had fulfilled his karma duty and shouldn't even care because it wasn't his fault if Merlin had the constitution of a girl.

Arthur knocked again.

"Merlin! Are you alive in there?"

No answer. Undeterred, he gave a few loud thuds with the flat of his hand, then rattled the doorknob…and the door swung open.

"What the-"

 _Typical._  Merlin forgot to lock his door. He was going to be robbed blind, one of these days. Arthur stepped tentatively into Merlin's apartment. The room was dark, layered in shadows and silhouettes. It was also about the same temperature as the corridor outside – that is to say, a few degrees less than comfortable. Arthur squinted in the dark.

"Merlin. Are you in this mess somewhere?"

He should leave. Probably. Merlin would think he was a burglar and assault him with chocolate or something. Arthur took a few more steps into Merlin's room, trying to feel for the light switch along the scratchy wallpaper. He found it, the little tell-tell square of plastic, and he flicked it downwards.

Nothing happened.

Arthur frowned and flicked the switch again, hearing it click with no effect.

"Merlin?"

He kept to the wall (because the floor was littered with unidentifiable objects and Arthur didn't want to break his neck) and was about to try find another light switch when he saw something move in the shadows. He frowned. And as his eyes became accustomed to the dark, the could make out the bundle on the floor that was rising and falling. Merlin, curled on his side on a mattress, smothered beneath a large duvet. Perhaps this was his cue to leave.

Arthur picked his way across to where Merlin was sleeping. He poked him in the side with his shoe.

"Hey. Merlin. Wake up."

Merlin only sniffled wetly in response. Arthur crouched down. He could see half of Merlin's face above the line of his duvet. His whole body was curled in on himself, shrimp like, and Arthur Plushie was tucked up next to his face being drooled on. The real Arthur thought he should have felt more disturbed than he did. After all, his mini-me was being drooled on by an imbecile. He had a  _mini-me._

Arthur grasped Merlin's bony shoulder and shook gently.

"Merlin, you idiot. Wake up. Come on,  _wake up._ "

He shook a little harder and Merlin half turned. Groggily, he opened his eyes and for a moment Arthur felt like someone had sucked all the oxygen out of the room as Merlin blinked at him, slow and sleepy. Then Merlin frowned as he seemed to recognise who it was.

"'thur?" he slurred, "Wha'ryou doing here?"

"It's only six o'clock," Arthur blurted out, "Lazy arse. Why are you sleeping?"

Merlin glared at him, hair sticking up like a fluffy hedgehog. He propped himself up onto his elbows, then struggled out from the tangle of duvet. Arthur Plushie rolled off the mattress.

"I'm tired," said Merlin. And he really did sound tired, voice lacking its usual enthusiasm. He rubbed his eyes, then peered back at Arthur.

"How did you get in?" he asked, suspiciously.

"You forgot to lock the door," said Arthur, then added, "Idiot."

"You make a habit of going into strangers' apartments then?" asked Merlin as he patted the mattress around him, searching for something. He found it a moment later, and pulled a jersey over his head.

Arthur waited until Merlin resurfaced.

"Your light bulb is broken, I think," he said.

In the dark, the light from the window made Merlin's eyes look huge and blue. They narrowed. Merlin shrugged again.

"If you want an extra practice to settle your nerves or something, I'm too tired," said Merlin, uncharacteristically sour. He stifled a yawn, "So go away, please."

Now that he was here, Arthur found any sort of apology he had was stuck at the back of his throat. He cast his eyes about the messy room and said instead:

"It's bloody cold in here. Don't you have a heater?"

"Will you just go away? I'll be there on Monday."

He looked as if he was ready to fall back under the blankets and Arthur said quickly, "Just tell me where the other light switch is alright? I feel stupid sitting here in the dark."

"Gaaaaargh," said Merlin, burrowing back into the mattress. He coughed several times, muffled against his pillow. Arthur looked down at him in concern.

"You're going to get pneumonia if you don't turn on the heater or something."

"Just go away!"

"I'll go away  _after_  you turn the heater back on. Where is it?"

There was a pause, punctuated by Merlin's unsuccessful attempts to muffle his coughing. Arthur poked him in the shoulder.

" _Mer_ -"

"For heaven's sake, the electricity's been cut off, okay?" Merlin burst out, turning over and glaring up at Arthur, "Now please just  _leave me alone to sleep_."

He turned over so his back was facing Arthur. A hand appeared out of the blanket and a moment later, Arthur Plushie was snatched back under the duvet. Arthur stared, feeling out of place. The guilt in his stomach wasn't feeling any better. He should have stayed in his apartment and made Italian bread.

"Your electricity's been… What? When did this happen?"

"Last week," Merlin mumbled into his pillow, "Had to tune the piano."

"Had to tune the- Christ," said Arthur in disbelief. He ran a hand through his hair, and hesitated. If Merlin caught a cold or something, it was going to ruin Arthur's session schedules. It would be more trouble if that happened, especially seeing as Merlin still had four tracks to record on his own, and the album couldn't be released until it was all done. Just thinking about all the rescheduling made Arthur's head begin to hurt, and he made up his mind.

"Alright. Come on, get up."

No response.

Arthur turned Merlin forcibly around via the shoulders.

"For crying out loud you Prat, GO AWAY," shouted Merlin.

"You're staying over at my place," said Arthur, "Temporarily. Until you regain necessities like electricity. Go pack your toothbrush or something."

Merlin whacked him in the chest with a flailing fist.

"I don't want your fucking charity. Just leave me alone, Arthur!"

Arthur blinked.

"Is this about last Saturday? Because honestly, Merlin, I was just  _surprised._ Now get up."

Merlin turned over.

"No."

Arthur lost his patience. He dragged the duvet back in one sweeping movement, ignoring Merlin's squawk of protest.

"You'll catch a cold and die from the poisonous fungus that is growing in your apartment. Now come on before I get a parking ticket."

"You arse! Give that back!"

Arthur stood up.

"Come on."

Merlin shivered as he pushed himself into a sitting position, Arthur Plushie falling onto his lap. He stared up at Arthur for a long moment.

"Are you going to leave me alone if I tell you you're an incredible prat and you deserve to die in a hole?"

Arthur almost smiled.

"No."

Merlin sighed. Then coughed.

"I'm still not coming."

"Merlin. You have no  _electricity._ "

"Electricity is for anarchists!"

"Uh, I don't think so," said Arthur slowly, "You'll probably freeze to death since you've got no fat to keep you warm. You can come back to this hole once you pay your bills or something."

Even in the dark, he could see a Merlin's cheeks flush at the comment. He had arms folded in front of him. A full minute of silence passed, marked by the slowly eroding stubbornness in Merlin's eyes.

"I can't believe you broke in to my flat to kidnap me," said Merlin finally.

Arthur snorted.

"I hardly broke in, did i? You left your front door open."

"It was closed! Does closed not mean closed in Prat-langauge?"

"Just get dressed," said Arthur, "Come on. I haven't had dinner yet."

Another long pause. Merlin looked down at the plushie in his hands, then back at Arthur. His expression was indefinable, and it was more his stillness than anything else, that bothered Arthur so much. In what way, he couldn't describe.

"Alright," said Merlin quietly. He got up from the mattress and began searching for a pair of jeans. Arthur turned politely to the window – a small rectangle affair that looked out over the street – as Merlin dressed and stuffed clothes in his messenger bag. Footsteps, a muffled curse. There was the sound of cupboards being opened, ratting and a zip. Open, close. In less than two minutes, Merlin was done.

"Kay," he said, and Arthur picked his way across the hazardous floor space. At the door, Merlin suddenly paused, then darted back inside. He came back, stuffing something else into his bag.

The lift ride back to the lobby was just as rattly as the one going up. At the sight of Arthur's car, Merlin stopped dead in his tracks.

"What now?" asked Arthur, patience going into negative digits.

"Wolfgang and Mozart!" cried Merlin, dropping his bag.

"Who?" asked Arthur. Maybe Merlin was actually insane.

"My budgies," said Merlin impatiently, "They need to come to."

"Your-" Arthur's eyes widened, "You are not bringing animals into my apartment!"

Merlin folded his arms.

"Fine, then I'm not coming."

"Fine!"

Merlin turned on his heels. Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to make sense of what came out of his mouth next:

"Oh, for the love of-! Fine! I'll get them, you wait in the car."

"You won't know what to bring, I'll be right back!"

And that was how, five minutes later, Arthur was carrying a large plastic bag full of budgie-mix, treats, grit and calcium sticks. Merlin tottered next to him, holding the large cage to his chest, while the budgies flapped their wings like they were trying to take off, helicopter style.

"…I couldn't just leave them!" Merlin was saying, as Arthur unlocked his car and threw the bag of budgie-food into the backseat. Merlin had somehow managed to get the passenger door open and was sliding into the seat, fitting the cage on his lap.

"If they get feathers all over my car…" said Arthur warningly, glaring into the cage at the two brightly coloured birds. One of them glared back, eyes beady and evil. Merlin wrapped both arms around the cage protectively. Arthur sighed and started the car.

At least Merlin wouldn't be dying of pneumonia anymore, he thought. Arthur's schedule was at this point, intact. That was the most important thing.

He took a right turn, and the budgies began jumping wildly about the cage.

 

:i:

"You have two options," said Arthur over dinner.

Merlin gave him a look, the spoon slipping in his hand. He almost dropped it again.

"Couch or…the couch." He sounded a little apologetic.

Merlin swallowed a large spoonful of soup, and then dipped the bread into the bowl.

"You have a nice couch," he said, "Is big."

Behind the two of them, the budgies weren't falling asleep, too excited beneath the bright living room lights. They chattered loudly, sound reverberating off the polished wooden floor making, filling the room light laughter. The cage was atop a large circular coffee table, Merlin's bag resting against its legs. Something Baroque was playing softly on the speakers, and Merlin thought he would actually face-plant in this delicious soup-stew-thing if he didn't sleep  _soon._

Across the table, Arthur set his cutlery down with a  _chink_ of silver on china. He looked distinctly awkward, lacking that confident Prattish air he usually bore so well. Merlin thought it was the absence of a suit and tie.

"More Ciabatta?"

Merlin contemplated the last piece of bread on the plate. He nodded, taking the ciabatta and pulling it in half, using the stretchy insides to mop up the lukewarm soup. Arthur made a disapproving  _tsk_ at the back of his throat, but Merlin kept going until all he had was the crunchy shell of the Italian bread. He fitted the two pieces back together, and smiled.

"You better finish that," said Arthur, pushing his chair back and taking his dishes to the sink.

"Mmm," said Merlin, taking the ciabatta apart again and began breaking it into bite sizes. Will always told him not to play with his food.

Merlin suddenly remembered that he was supposed to take his vitamin supplements now, after dinner. Surreptitiously, he patted his pockets. There was a distinctive lack of rattling – the bottles were probably in his bag. He'd have to take them with Arthur wasn't there. Merlin popped another piece of ciabatta in his mouth, chewing. As soon as the last piece was gone, Arthur whipped his plate away.

"Alright. Shower is down the hall, I'll get you pillows."

Merlin rubbed his eyes.

"Can't I just go to sleep? It's already..." he glanced at the clock on the wall, "nearly nine."

Arthur looked faintly scandalised.

"Your hygiene habits alarm me!"

"I'm clean!" protested Merlin, but the thought of hot water did sound nice. He would probably fall asleep in the bath, knock himself out and drown. Then Arthur would have to handle all the paperwork. Merlin pushed back his own chair, standing with a stretch and a yawn. "But I'm going."

"Use the towels on the top shelf," said Arthur over his shoulder. Merlin could hear the sound of water splashing in the sink. "The blue ones."

Merlin rolled his eyes.

"Will you kill me if I use another colour?"

Arthur shrugged, already elbow deep in the sink.

"The other one is mine. And drying. Please don't mess up the system."

Arthur's bathroom was the shape of a week old eraser. There was a bath at one end, a long glass sink that hung suspended beneath wall-length mirror. On the curved end of the room, a glass shower ran the length of the wall, shelves sunk into the tiles. Bottles of shampoo were arranged in colour themes, and there were fluffy towels hanging by the door. Merlin dumped his pyjamas on a spare shelf, then pulled down a towel at random. Green. Arthur would just have to live with it.

Arthur's shower nearly knocked Merlin over when he turned the handle, a hot stream of water hitting his head and making him yelp in surprise. His own shower always took at least two minutes to heat up and the water to rattle through the pipes...and Merlin's clothes were now drenched.  _Bugger._  He coughed, trying to get rid of the feeling of water in his nose. He fumbled for the handle again, twisting it the opposite way. He regretted the decision when the water turned icy cold and he accidently whacked his funny bone into the edge of the shower door, trying to get out of range.

" _Aghhhhh_!"

Someone pounded on the bathroom door.

"Merlin? Are you dying in there?"

"I HATE YOUR SHOWER," called Merlin, finally tackling the water into a less torrential stream, less cold and not scalding hot. He struggled out of his wet tee-shirt and jeans, dumping them in a soggy pile in the middle of the bathroom.

"Are you alright?" Arthur called through the door.

"It's evil like you!" said Merlin, "Go away."

There was a pause, and Merlin could hear the sound of Arthur's footsteps fading down the corridor. He turned back to the shower, stepping under the spray with a sigh of relief. He tried not to think about anything in particular, closing his eyes under the pounding of the spray. When his face felt numb, Merlin blinked away the water and grabbed the most colourful looking bottle. He rubbed his eyes, flicking the cap open and squirting the shampoo into his hands. It smelt like strawberry jam, even had little seeds floating in it. Sweet and good enough to…

Merlin gave the shampoo in his palm a tentative lick. Then spluttered horribly when it tasted  _nothing_ like jam.

  
:i:

Time was everywhere.

"Tell me," Gaius had said on their very first lesson, "What is the most important thing in music?"

"Emotion," answered Merlin immediately, "Passion?"

Gaius only smiled and shook his head.

"…technique?" Merlin guessed, wincing at the thought of it. "Er. Playing the right notes. Being boringly correct."

"No," said Gaius, "It's  _tempo._  Everything else hinges on this one thing:  _tempo."_

 _Andante:_  the count of footsteps on the side walk, the pauses on the corner just before you step out onto the road. Look right, left, sharp, flat.  _Allegro:_ the feel of keys like bare feet in the rain, slippery and exhilarating. It's running even though you're not supposed to, watching the picket fences flick by like bar lines. Thirty semiquavers and they're gone. But sometimes, it's  _rubato:_ breath in, breathe out, breathe in –

It's falling in love. It's falling that never ends.

 

:i:

Arthur woke. Not by the sound of his alarm clock, which was strange. He peered over at the digits and was horrified to realise that it was already eight o'clock…and that what woke him was squawking. Outside his window, birds were serenading the dawn. Loudly.

Then he frowned. The sound wasn't coming from outside his window. On the contrary, the birds seemed to be in his living room. Then the events of yesterday filtered through post-dreaming and Arthur remembered: Merlin, electricity, budgies. Budgerigars. In his _apartment._ It was clearly a sign of Merlin's influence. Or insanity. Probably both.

Getting out of bed, Arthur decided he needed a change of routine to deal with the presence of animals  _in his apartment._ Perhaps fruit tea to begin the morning, or freshly squeezed orange and lime juice. Yawning, he pulled back the shades, letting the early morning sunlight fill the room with warmth. Then he made his way down the corridor towards the kitchen, barefoot. The wood was cool beneath his feet.

At the sight of him, one of the budgies – blue and white – trilled and squawked in greeting.

"Merlin," Arthur called, "Wake up."

No response.

Sighing, Arthur crossed into the living room and was about to pull the blankets off the couch when he realised Merlin wasn't there. The blankets were in a lump, half draped off onto the floor and the pillow was squashed underneath it. Merlin, the underfed idiot, was nowhere to be seen.

"Merlin!" Arthur called, trying to listen for the sound of water in the bathroom. Nothing. _Where could he have gone?_ A cursory glance around the room saw his bag still lying by the coffee table, clothing and bits of re-fill paper spilling out. The budgies were still there, making their presence heard. So where was…

Then Arthur spotted a chink of light on the stair case, a sliver, ruler straight. Coming from the studio upstairs?

"Honestly," said Arthur. "Too tired indeed."

He pondered between getting that orange juice or berating Merlin for wandering around his apartment and decided on the berating. Arthur was almost half way up the stairs when he recognised what Merlin was playing; the chords altered and melody a pirouette of extra mordents but there was no mistakening it.

He took the rest of the stairs two steps at a time, crossing the length of the studio and snatching the manuscript off the music stand.

"Arthur!" exclaimed Merlin in surprise, snatching his hands away from the keyboard. Arthur saw the guilt pass across this features and the staying there. Arthur took the paper folder and slapped it down on the piano lid, which had been closed. Closed so Arthur wouldn't hear the music -

"I never said you could go rooting through my things!" Arthur shouted, his heart beating way too fast because no one was meant to ever  _see_ these, let alone play them. They were meant to be thoughts on a page, ideas abandoned not brought into being. Merlin had taken something private and laid Arthur's emotions out like a performance. It was a shock, like suddenly, truly, waking up.

"I'm sorry, I was just curious-" said Merlin, eyes wide, "I was looking through the music you had and-"

"It doesn't matter! This is private!"

Merlin's eyes widened even further, if that was possible. Arthur could still see the pillow creases pressed into this cheek, his hair sleep-ruffled. Merlin made an undeniably endearing picture. And it just made the embarrassment even worse. Arthur clenched his hand into a fist by his side and looked away, trying to focus on the dig of nails into skin. He counted:  _one, two, three, four-_

"I didn't know you composed those…" said Merlin, tentatively, "They were signed _Prince._ "

"It's a pseudonym," said Arthur. "I don't- they're trash." He could feel spots of heat on his face, burning with embarrassment because he didn't want Merlin looking at his unfinished compositions, because he…Arthur didn't really know why.

"I think they're amazing," said Merlin bluntly, and Arthur looked up in surprise, "I never knew you composed."

"I don't," said Arthur.

There was a long, long moment of silence.

"I'm sorry for prying," said Merlin at last. He was looking regretfully at the folder under Arthur's hand, "But I did like them. The  _Nocturne_ especially…it's pretty."

The shock faded as fast as it had come, and Arthur could feel himself deflating. He ran his finger along the edge of the folder, frowning.

"They're just…they're nothing."

"But Arthur, can't I-"

"No," said Arthur firmly. He turned away from the piano, thinking of London. He thought of the villa in Nice, where his mother taught him theory on large blank music staves, orchestra scores. The tracing of treble clefs, quaver tails and resisting the urge to colour in the minims as children do. But that was all out of reach, and everything he could write down now was only a shadow.

Merlin just wanted sound, wanted compositions to change and cradle in those fingers. The thought of it, of those things becoming more than silence on a page made Arthur's heart lurch and he walked deliberately back the way he had come.

"Breakfast," he said, and he didn't wait to see if Merlin followed.

 

:i:

The irritating thing about Merlin was that his mere presences made Arthur feel guilty for shouting. Merlin didn't mention the incident again all weekend, obligingly going through Bach and Beethoven and Vivaldi when Arthur asked. He didn't even  _argue_ very much, only rolling his eyes when Arthur told him to practice his repertoire.

Still, the constricted feeling didn't go away.

On Sunday night, he caught Merlin hiding in the studio again, ignoring the dinner call which was disturbingly abnormal behaviour for Merlin. When Arthur had stomped upstairs with a rolling pin, Merlin had looked extremely shifty and then he dropped his spoon on the floor  _three times_ during dinner. Arthur made him wash up.

 

:i:

"Merlin,  _stay still."_

"My toe is itchy!"

The camera went  _click, click._ The photographer smiled at the both of them.

"Alright, let's try something different. Do whatever feels natural, Mr. Emrys."

Merlin relaxed on his seat and pillowed his face on folded arms, peering at them over the top of the piano.

"I can go to sleep? Why do you need a picture of me anyway?"

"Shut up and look professional," said Arthur.

Merlin propped himself on up on one elbow.

"You look too serious," he said, lips curling up into a smile.

Arthur gave him a long look that said  _we will be having a conversation about this later._

_Click._

"Beautiful!"

 

:i:

"You know," said Merlin, "my electricity should be back now. I got paid."

Arthur glanced over at where the other sprawled in front of the television.

"Ah, but there is no guarantee if you'll practice properly, without me to keep you on track," said Arthur, casually.

Merlin frowned over the arm of the couch. It was really a pout and the expression made him look ridiculous and idiotic, and Arthur was going to stop the adjectives at that.

"I don't need your charity. I know what you're doing."

"Really," said Arthur, trying to sound uninterested.

"You think I can't look after myself. That's why you're giving me food! You think I'm useless!"

"No," said Arthur, "I know you're useless. You can't feed yourself – Your budgie…Bach is it? Bach is fatter than you are."

"It's Mozart!" said Merlin, bristling with indignation.

"Whatever."

"And he's not fat! You're fat!"

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Very mature. Shush now."

Merlin made a mock vomiting noise and turned over on the couch. Arthur smiled behind his back.

 

:i:

_Two Months Later._

:i:

 

The recording was an unexpected and overnight success.

"Look," said Morgana, full of glee. She pushed a magazine double-spread beneath Arthur's nose one Tuesday afternoon, " _Look_ at what Cendred  _I-hate-Pendragon_ said about you!"

Arthur sipped his tea, eyeing the text apprehensively. On the opposite page, there was a large version of the photograph included in the album, the one of Merlin leaning over the piano and Arthur standing in the curve of the Steinway, elbow resting on the polished lid.

" _Arthur Pendragon_ ," Morgana read in an exaggerated English accent, " _proves_ _himself to be still the hottest draw on the classical circuit, outselling any other violinist with his charm, intensity –_ Ooh, Arthur, he thinks you're _intense-"_

"Morgana!" said Arthur, dropping his face into his hands. "Spare me the theatrics."

"… _not only showcases flawless technical mastery that, in the past, err_ _ed_ _on the side of emotionless, -_ He's right Arthur, you usually sound like a mannequin- _Pendragon's style is remarkably different to his recital in August. This rumoured one-off recording deal with Tall Poppies is an unexpected change. Does it mean we can expect less traditional repertoire in the future? It is well known that Arthur Pendragon's manager, Uther Pendragon has a stubbornness for-"_

"God, why do they always have to be Father into everything? Jesus," said Arthur. He tried not to let the warm, pleased feeling that swelled in his chest show on his face. Cendred really did hate the Pendragons, so such a review coming from him was  _raving._

Morgana raised an eyebrow, "It's because he's made himself a lot of enemies in the critic circles."

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Yes, I've realised."

"What I'm saying is, they  _loved_ it. The arrangement of Glass's _Concerto_ was brilliant. Did Killian convince you or did Merlin?"

"…Merlin," said Arthur reluctantly, wincing as Morgana burst out laughing, "He is incredibly difficult to work with, you have no idea! It was either that or soundtrack arrangements. And I think Father would have a heart attack."

"Poor Merlin," said Morgana, scanning the page with one manicured nail. "…described as, and I quote,  _the next Dinu Lipatti– though with a certain disregard for popular interpretations, most notable in the Liszt-"_

"I  _told_  him to memorise that properly!" said Arthur. "But would he listen? No."

Morgana was studying the photograph, glossy against a black backdrop.

"You should show this to Merlin," she said. "He needs some encouragement after your abuse."

"I don't abuse my accompanists!" protested Arthur, draining the rest of his tea. Morgana made a disbelieving nose at the back of her throat.

"Sweetheart, I'm sitting right here. And the only reason I haven't run screaming is because  _you_  don't have the guts to bully me properly."

Arthur pulled the magazine away from her, flipping it shut.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Morgana."

She gave him a wide smile. Which faded after a moment of silence.

"You know, Uther wants me to step back into my old job," she said.

Arthur's hand froze, fingers still curled around the ear of his cup.

"When was this?"

Morgana shrugged.

"He mentioned it yesterday, seeing as I'm officially free of therapy now."

For some reason, Arthur's throat felt suddenly dry. Something must have shown in his face because Morgana continued;

"I told him I'd think about it."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "And…?"

"I'm telling you now. No."

Arthur felt taken a back. "No? What?"

Morgana shook her head, pushing the magazine towards Arthur over the table.

"I have never heard you play like  _this_ ," she said earnestly, no trace of mockery in her voice, "Not with me, not with the Philharmonic, especially not when playing for your father. It's…I think you should keep this one."

Arthur stared at her, emotions warring with each other inside his head. He had gotten so used to Merlin he had forgotten that  _Merlin_ was only temporary. He didn't feel temporary; he felt like he had always been there.

Morgana looked like she knew what he was thinking. She had always understood him better than he understood himself – not that Arthur would ever admit that.

"Father won't be pleased."

Morgana smirked. "Then we just won't tell him."

Arthur snorted.

"Please. He would find out. And it's totally just your excuse to drop me – I'll have you know I'm  _charming_ and  _technically flawless."_

"Technically is right," replied Morgana. "Now do me a favour and give this to Merlin." She jabbed a finger at the magazine.

"He doesn't need encouraging," said Arthur, doubtfully.

"He's good for you," said Morgana, and now the smile was more of a leer. Arthur glared at her.

"The door is that way," he said.

Morgana only laughed and kissed Arthur on the cheek.

 

:i:

"… _perhaps the next_   _Dinu Lipatti– though with a certain disregard for popular interpretations, most notable in the Liszt Consolation. Emrys possesses a cantabile style that is both subtle and stunning, contrast to the flamboyant showmanship of rival Lang Lang-_ Jesus Merlin, he's comparing you to  _Lang Lang._ "

Will thumped him on the back in congratulations, nearly making Merlin impale himself on his straw. He coughed, swallowing the strawberry milk. Lance continued to read excitedly from the magazine laid out on the cafeteria table.

" _And in some ways more elegant than most other pianists of this generation. We await him in concert."_

Merlin felt like his face was on fire, and he hid behind his sandwich wrapper. It didn't help that the words made him feel like he had just inhaled helium, creating a bubble that threatened to float him right off his chair and through the ceiling.

"It's just one person," said Merlin.

"One person-" Lance stared at him incredulously. "It's  _Bayard Mercia._ He's one of Australia's top musical authorities, aside from Uther Pendragon. Keep your phone on, because I wouldn't be surprised if the offers start coming in."

"In concert!" said Will, "Promise me you'll say yes if anyone asks, you coward."

" _Has_  anyone asked?"demanded Lance.

"It's  _one_ recording," Merlin insisted, taking a large bite of his chicken sandwich, "The only reason anyone took any notice of it is because of Arthur."

Will threw up his hands in disgust.

"Fucking Pendragon,  _move over._ Look, I can't hate him for giving you the opportunity, but, seriously Merlin, you're better."

"I don't play the violin!" protested Merlin.

"Doesn't matter," said Will wisely, "You're not still his accompanist are you? Isn't his old one back yet?"

Merlin bit his lip.

"Arthur hasn't really said anything," he replied. The niggling sense of doubt at the back of his mind deflated his happy bubble a little.

"You don't want to settle for that," said Will. "You're better than just an accompaniment."

"Seconded," agreed Lanced, then paused. "But you're still accompanying me for the recital, right?" he asked, "I mean if you're-"

Merlin glared at them both through the smeared plastic wrapping of his sandwich.

"Of course I am," said Merlin.

There was a long moment during which they just stared at each other. The cafeteria was loud, full of chatter and the sound of people enjoying their lunch.

"It's all a bit…unexpected, right?" asked Merlin, glancing at the picture of him and Arthur. The Merlin in the magazine was smiling at the camera, whilst Arthur looked focused and brooding. His hair glowed under the lights with the same warmth as the wood of his violin. The image made something shivery curl deep in Merlin's gut. He looked away quickly, reaching for his supplements and inhaler.

"It's bloody fantastic," said Will, "and about time too."

 

:i:

"I don't know what possessed you," said Uther, voice deceptively calm.

"It wasn't in the contract," said Arthur evenly. "There was nothing in our agreement that said I couldn't publish with-"

"That is not the point!" his father said, anger now colouring his tone. Arthur stood his ground.

"With all due respect, sir, it was hardly a failure. The reception was exemplary. Did you see-"

"You are setting yourself up as a cheap modernist!" said Uther, slamming both fists onto his desk. "How long do you think you'll last in the industry once you're thirty? They'll forget you! You can't risk setting yourself on a track like this!"

Arthur gritted his teeth.

"I feel that my choice of repertoire was sufficient to-"

Uther didn't even let him finish.

"You're not to disobey me again," he said. "Letting that  _boy_ – he's riding on your name!"

"Merlin is talented, Father. I trust him!"

"Then let him find his own way up. You're not to collaborate with Emrys again."

 

:i:

"I must congratulate you," said Gaius, "You've really done well."

Merlin couldn't help grinning.

"Thanks, sir," he said.

"You've finally began realising your potential," Gaius continued. "If you work hard…this is only the beginning."

 

:i:

"I was thinking," said Arthur late one afternoon. Merlin was perched on the edge of the kitchen bench, scanning over new music whilst Arthur prepared vegetables at the sink. "I've accepted a new recital. At the opera house."

Merlin dropped his pencil.

"The opera house? The Sydney Opera house?"

Arthur continued cutting slices of cucumber at a scary pace.

"Yes, the Sydney Opera house. Close your mouth before you start drooling, Merlin."

"Really?" asked Merlin, eyes wide.

Arthur spared him a glance, hands still working.

"No, I'm lying. Of course,  _really._  What's so amazing about the Opera House?"

Merlin blushed.

"Well, it's just- never been in there. And it looks so cool. Can I come?"

Arthur's hands paused. He didn't look up, but slid a neat row of thinly sliced cucumbers to a small saucer and began slicing kiwi-fruit instead.

"I was going to ask if you'd mind accompanying me."

And that wriggling doubt, that small uncomfortable sense of worry fell away at Arthur's words. Merlin snagged a piece of fruit, popping it into his mouth.

"It depends," he said, trying to grin. "Are we still baking cookies today?"

Arthur sighed exaggeratedly.

"I suppose we are."

 

:i:

Sometimes, Arthur caught Merlin playing his compositions. He would overhear it, folded lovingly into the right hand. Or he would catch the tail end of the melody when Merlin hummed it. Arthur didn't say anything, though the wrenching feeling in his chest never went away.

Merlin had favourite places in Arthur's apartment. The piano was one of them, the couch and most of all, the kitchen. Right now, Merlin was sitting on the edge of Arthur's kitchen bench (again) whilst Arthur made cheesecake because cheesecake calmed the soul. It was needed to counter the effects of Uther Pendragon.

"I really want to help," said Merlin for the tenth time in as many minutes. "Please?"

"No," said Arthur, folding the base of the cake into a buttered cake-tin. It was crushed shortbread with blueberries, which would form the bottom layer of the cheesecake.

"I won't make a mess, I promise," said Merlin, abandoning his theory homework in favour of blasting Arthur with large, puppy-dog eyes. Arthur stared resolutely into the cake tin.

"You'll blow something up. Go practice the Schubert."

"The Schubert is fine," said Merlin dismissively.

There was a short pause of blissful silence. In the background, Glassplayed on the speakers.

"Can't I help?" asked Merlin again.

"God – Fine!" said Arthur, giving in. He thrust a glass bowl full of cookie dough into Merlin's hands. "Smooth this. Then you can put it on the tray over there."

"Okay!" said Merlin, grabbing the bowl and the wooden spoon stuck inside it.

"And get off my bench," added Arthur. Merlin only sat himself more comfortably, back leaning against the wall, whilst he stirred and mooshed the cookie dough. Arthur turned away with a sigh; the preparation of food should keep Merlin occupied for at least five minutes.

Ten minutes later, he regretted the decision completely.

"I said fill up the tray!" said Arthur, exasperated, "You can't tell me you don't know what cookies look like. Even you're not that useless."

On the tray, there were a series of blobs with varying shapes and sizes. One was at least as wide as Arthur's face, and thin as paper. Half of the tray was empty.

"I was being creative! Not everything has to be the same, you know!" said Merlin.

"If they're to fit in a jar, or bake properly, then  _yes they do,_ " said Arthur with exaggerated slowness, "Also, why haven't you filled this up?"

At this, Merlin looked decidedly guilty.

"I ran out of dough?" he offered, showing Arthur the empty bowl.

There was a pause. Arthur looked from the bowl to the smear of chocolate on Merlin's mouth, chin and nose. He raised an eyebrow.

"You ate  _half the dough?_ " he asked, incredulous.

"No!" protested Merlin. "Maybe…two fifths?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Well, that just means less cookies for you."

Merlin looked suddenly horrified.

"Can't we make more dough?" he asked, glancing at the pantry.

"No," said Arthur.

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"But Arthur!"

"Shut up or you won't get any cheesecake."

" _Aaaaarrthurrr-"_

"For heaven's sake!" Arthur exploded, whacking Merlin on the forehead with the spoon in the bowl. There was a moment of silence before Merlin blinked, then burst out laughing. Then he wiped his hand, still covered in sticky chocolate dough, in Arthur's hair.

" _MERLIN_!"

 

Still laughing, Merlin bolted for the living room. Abandoning the half-made cheesecake and armed with a large spoon, Arthur gave chase.

 

:i:

Arthur found out about the university recital when he was waiting for Merlin outside the conservatoire the week after they began rehearsing for their next recital. There was a poster stuck to the glass door, depicting the university orchestra and a montage of several musicians, including Will. At the bottom, there was the same picture of Merlin was the one published on the Tall Poppies' CD cover. A line of gold print declared  _Merlin Emrys_ to be a featured artist. Arthur had smirked to himself, feeling pleased for his accompanist.

He hadn't told Merlin he was coming, slipping in the back of the auditorium as the lights were dimming. He unfolded the printed program and scanned down the list; singers, cellists…chamber music including one named "Expresso" that included Will, Lance, Merlin and Freya.

Merlin would be playing Chopin's Etude number three last.

Arthur didn't concentrate for most of the first half. He tuned out some of the worse musicians, suppressed the urge to wince at intonation and technique and almost fell off his chair when Will and Merlin came on stage just before interval, playing some sort of Irish Jazz Gig with an electric violin. It was a piece not demanding at all, but the overall effect was so hilarious the audience gave them a huge round of applause as the lights came up for five minute break. Arthur didn't know whether he should be horrified at people's taste or thankful no one threw rotten tomatoes onto stage.

He discovered that Merlin's friend  _Lance_ was an exceptional violinist – easily the best out of all that performed. There was a certain something about his playing; they way his eyes never left Merlin, his cues barely there but met all the same. It was like the piano and violin were indistinguishable from one another, the push and pull synchronised like reading thoughts. Merlin didn't play with any scores at all, the better to stare back at Lancelot, swaying into the keyboard with the phrases. It was evident that they had played together before; their playing was familiar and beautiful. Merlin's smile, after the last note had faded away, was brighter than the stage lights.

Arthur felt a flash of jealousy, sour at the back of his throat, before he managed to distract himself.

There was a hush before Merlin's closing performance. Arthur sat straighter in his seat.

When Merlin walked onto the stage, he stumbled halfway to the piano. Then he put the music stand down with a loud  _clunk,_ shifted the stool backwards to accommodate his long legs. It made a squeaking screech that made Arthur wince. Merlin's stage manner needed  _a lot_ of work.

But there was nothing bad to be said about the music.

It was what lullabies would feel like, thought Arthur, because despite the over-emotional interpretation, despite every wrong note Arthur could hear and every rest blurred…Merlin made the piano  _sing._

/EMBED /CHOPIN ETUDE No.3

It was the thing that had caught his attention all those months ago, the sheer beauty of notes that didn't seem to end, voices with barely a breath to tell them apart. Arthur could imagine the hammers, the strings, the mechanism moving in ordered, technical sequences. But what came out of the instrument was something more lyrical than should be possible.

Chopin suited Merlin. The romance of it suited him, suited his silly smile and over-emotional response to everything. It suited his long, careful fingers, his attention to things Arthur ignored yet ignored of the things Arthur had thought were the most important.  _Had thought. Had._

He looked, for the lack of a better phrase,  _so in love_  with the music he was making….

It rendered Arthur breathless.

 

:i:

"You're here!" exclaimed Merlin, blinking in surprise. Then he hugged Arthur hard around the middle, "I thought you were busy!"

"Being highly efficient, I finished ahead of schedule," said Arthur, patting Merlin awkwardly on the back. Merlin let go, still beaming from after-concert euphoria.

"Did you enjoy the concert?" he asked.

Arthur feigned deliberation.

"It wasn't a disaster," he said and ducked when Merlin attempted to whack him over the head. "No, I think you were…good. You played well."

Merlin looked like he was going to go for another hug so Arthur added hastily, "Though there is room for improvement of course. In your case, the room is the size of Carnegie Hall. Definite practice needed."

"You Prat!" Merlin laughed. "You totally thought I was amaz-"

The door burst open, letting in a barrage of noise as someone strode in.

"Oi, Merlin. Lance and I was thinking," said Will, striding back into the green room Merlin was sharing with a couple of cellists. He stopped when he caught sight of Arthur. "What the hell are  _you_ doing here?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"Taking Merlin out for dinner," he said smoothly.

"You are?" asked Merlin, surprised.

"To celebrate end of term," replied Arthur.

"Merlin's coming out with the rest of us," said Will. "We're going down to the  _Dragon's Eye,_ Merl, with the entire orchestra. Half of them just want to get drunk at the bar, but whatever. You're coming with, right?"

Merlin looked torn, glancing from Will to Arthur and then back again.

"It's that place with as-much-as-you-can-eat ice cream, remember?" added Will, and Arthur shot him a disgusted look. Luring Merlin with promise of ice cream was morally wrong on so many levels that he couldn't believe his ears.

Merlin was looking tempted, but there was a little furrow between his eyebrows that said he couldn't decide when being pulled in two directions by the prospect of food. Then his expression lit up.

"Arthur, do you want to come with us?"

Warning bells went off inside Arthur's head.

"Er…"

"It's probably not worthy of the likes of Pendragon. Come on, Merl, gonna be late."

Merlin poked Arthur in the shoulder, looking hopeful.

"They have really nice ice cream. And…um, garlic bread? Do you like garlic bread?"

"I abhor pre-made bread, Merlin," said Arthur, deadpan. Merlin's face dropped – actually _dropped._ "But I'll come"

Oh Jesus, did he just say that?

Will looked like Christmas had been cancelled. Glaring at Arthur venomously, he slung an arm around Merlin's shoulders.

"Come on then."

 

:i:

The restaurant was packed to bursting with university students, their friends and various tag-alongs that effectively pushed all other patrons out. Towards midnight, half the students had migrated from the restaurant to the attached bar and alcohol was flowing freely.

Arthur was trying resolutely to keep away from the cocktails or tequila shots that were being consumed at a rapid pace. He needed to drive home to his apartment and hopefully not crash into a lamppost on the way. Plus, Merlin was drunk enough for the both of them.

" _Arfurrrrr,"_ he said, flopping down on the empty seat next to Arthur and falling into his lap, "Why r'you being so up tight?"

"Because I am responsible and sober," said Arthur, gripping Merlin by the shoulders and setting him upright in his chair. Merlin giggled, pupils blown wide, face flushed pink.

"You need to relax sometimes," said Merlin, jabbing him in the chest with one pointy finger, "or all the time. Now. Maybe."

A waitress stopped by at that moment, setting down a shockingly pink drink with lemons and ice. "From the gentleman over there," she said with a wink at Merlin and jerked a thumb over her shoulder. Some stranger Arthur didn't know shot Merlin a particularly sultry look across the room.

"Thanks!" said Merlin, and the waitress swept away.

"See?" Merlin said, turning to Arthur and taking a large gulp of the pink-horror, "People are being so nice. You should talk more."

Arthur snatched the cocktail glass out of his hands before Merlin could slop anymore on himself.

"I'm pretty sure that  _gentleman_ is anything but nice," he said, wryly. "You're hopeless, you idiot."

"Am not," said Merlin, indignantly. "Didn't stop once. Schoo-Cho- Chopping went alright didn't it?"

It took a moment for Arthur to work out that "Chopping" was "Chopin".

"Yes, yes. You played well. No reason to slack off though. Or get absolutely  _plastered."_ He grabbed Merlin's shoulders before he fell off his chair. "Honestly, I think I regret that I came at all. Your friend has been giving me hostile looks all evening." Merlin was by no means fat – but a drunk Merlin was all lanky limbs and lack of coordination and the next thing Arthur knew, Merlin was  _right there._ His breath smelt of the sweet cocktails he had been drinking, sugary and intoxicating. His eyes were the strangest shade of blue beneath the dim lighting.

"It's because you're pretty," said Merlin, smiling, and then he was kissing Arthur, one hand coming up to cup his face, drawing them closer to each other.

Kissing Merlin wasn't like kissing a girl – Merlin was… _Merlin,_ lips softer than Arthur had expected (not that he had ever thought about such a scenario but-), eager and sweet. Instinctively, Arthur tilted his head so their mouths slotted together. Merlin made a soft noise, sighing into the kiss.

Then Arthur's brain caught up with what was happening, and he pushed Merlin away jerkily, standing up so fast he nearly knocked his chair over. Then Will was shouting- "What the fuck, Pendragon?" – and Merlin was looking confused and  _Jesus what had he been thinking?_

"Oi, I'm talking to you!" said Will, hands bunched into fists.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at Merlin.

"I've got to go," he said.

"Hey-!"

Arthur caught hold of the half-punch, twisting Will's arm so he had no option but to step back. Side-stepping several gawping students, Arthur strode quickly out of the heat of the restaurant and into the cold night air. He kept walking, letting the cold numb his face, his fingers. He had left his coat behind in the restaurant, on the back of Merlin's chair. _Jesus._

His car was a welcome sight. He drove back to his apartment, speeding the entire way, taking the corners and intersections on auto pilot. And when he got back, he locked the door behind him and went straight for upstairs for his violin.  _Bach._ He needed to clear his head, needed to  _not think._

When Arthur finally stopped playing, the sun was rising over the horizon.

 

:i:

There was really no way to avoid Merlin. They had to rehearse the next day after all. But Merlin took one look at Arthur's face and seemed to decide against whatever he was going to say. Instead, he said:

"Spent last night throwing up. Hate getting drunk. I think I threw up on Will's shoes."

And the tension dissipated, more or less.

"You weight next to nothing, it's no wonder you're a light weight," said Arthur, snorting.

"Hey – says the person who passed out on my front step. Pot. Kettle"

Arthur waved a hand.

"I hope the hangover isn't going to ruin your concentration. Or I'm going to have to bring out your best friend, the metronome."

Merlin dumped his bag on the chair by the wall, and then flopped down onto the stool in front of Arthur's piano.

"If you do that, I'll hate you forever," said Merlin grumpily. Under the light, he looked awful. There were dark smudges beneath his eyes, accentuating the hollows underneath his cheekbones. He looked exhausted, and when he placed his hands at the keys, Arthur's eyes were drawn to the bird-thin wrists, sleeves loose around the arms. Arthur frowned, concern overriding any awkwardness.

"Are you alright?"

Merlin looked up, shrugging.

"Haven't been sleeping that well," he said, vaguely.

"Have you been eating?" asked Arthur. "And when I say eating, I mean proper food."

Merlin shrugged.

"Yes."

"Liar. You've been living on trash from that university cafeteria."

Merlin played a listless melody on the piano.

"Are we not going to talk about it?" he asked, out of the blue.

Arthur tensed.

"About what?" he shot back, wary.

Merlin let out a soft sound, like laughter but not quite there.

"Okay then."

There was a moment of silence. Arthur felt strange; suspended like a living statue in the middle of his studio. It was just a kiss, for god's sake! The piano tinkled onwards, whistle tunes, compositions in the shower that was lost down the drain when you turned off the water. It trickled, through Merlin's long, thin fingers and into the piano, then out again.

"You'll stay for lunch," said Arthur decisively. "You can help me make pastries. That shouldn't be too difficult, even for you."

And at last, Merlin gave him small smile.

 

:i:

Arthur was good at denial. He knew he was good at denial, which made the whole concept a little ironic, but the thing was  _Merlin_ seemed to bounce back as good as new. Perhaps he was the forget-and-forgive sort of person, but within a few days, it was like Arthur had never shoved him away and there was no misunderstanding over sweet, cloying cocktails. Merlin was still his friend – because there was no denying that they had anything close to a professional relationship – and that meant more than Arthur wanted to examine.

And in any case, it didn't seem to hinder their music at all. On the contrary, Merlin seemed to have developed a way of reading Arthur's mind. It wasn't to say he would necessary  _follow orders,_ but it was undeniable that the piano and violin had never sounded so… bound together. There were times Arthur almost lost concentration, playing and listening to Merlin's improvisations, letting himself be pulled and pushed. It was enough to occupy his waking (and sleeping) hours so that The Incident could be safely ignored.

that Merlin seemed to have caught yet  _another_ cold. It was so bad he had to walk around with a bag full of rattling medication, tissues and an inhaler, of all things.

"Is it that bad?" Arthur asked, mixing a hot lemon and honey concoction as Merlin played Schubert at the piano. He had stopped three times to used his inhaler, the tiny  _puff puff puff_ making Arthur feel sick with worry. Merlin sneezed.

"Yeah," he said.

"I've never heard of an inhaler being used during colds before," said Arthur dubiously, setting the silver spoon on the bench. "Come here, you can't drink stuff at the piano."

Obediently, Merlin shuffled over. Arthur passed him the mug and Merlin took a grateful gulp.

"Helps me breathe," Merlin said, belatedly. He coughed, a wet hacking sound that shook his chest.

"It's probably your terrible apartment," said Arthur. "No wonder you're getting sick."

Merlin glared at him over the rim of his mug.

"It's not that."

"Then it's your awful diet," insisted Arthur. "Do I need to move you back onto the couch?"

Something flickered in Merlin's eyes, but then it was gone.

"No, you prat. I'll get sick of your voice and die."

"Well, better that than this swine flu you've got. It's not swine flu is it?"

Merlin rolled his eyes.

"No, it's not swine flu."

He drained the contents of his mug in one long swallow. Arthur could help tracking the way his Adam's apple bobbed up and down when he drank, throat a long, slender curve down to heavily shadowed collar bones. Merlin set the mug in the sink.

"Maybe you should have bed rest," said Arthur, watching as Merlin rinsed out the cup and stowed it away on its rack. At least he was learning some organisation skills.

"Arthur, you surprise me. What happened to 'Merlin, you need to practice'"?

Arthur shrugged, averting his eyes.

"You've improved. A little. Minimally."

Merlin rolled his eyes, a quirk of a smile at the edge of his mouth. He made his way back to the piano and sat down in front of it, playing a flourishing A minor scale.

"There's not much time left," he said.

 

:i:

Of course, ignoring and being ignorant were two different things.

The kiss had ruined any hope of the latter option. It drew Arthur in like a memory, a dream, the feeling of Merlin's lips on his. It made heat curl in his stomach and guilt seize in his chest, but it didn't stop the thoughts. He distracted himself with Bach, with etudes, with abstract contemporary music just to spite his father. He even rang Morgana and asked, in a side-long fashion, if she wanted to be his accompanist again. That conversation had not ended well.

And Merlin just went on being… _Merlin._ Overly enthusiastic about everything, about life, about leaves in the gutter and Arthur's cooking. He was like a scherzo or a series of bagatelles: full of energy one moment, quiet and contemplative in strange slices of time. Like an etude, he was a study. But of what, Arthur wasn't sure.

Merlin was like Rachmaninov, cantabile melodies that drew Arthur in. His affection, his friendship was becoming something vital and if denial was needed to keep that friendship safe then. Well.

It made Arthur wonder why he was suddenly rethinking his life's philosophy. Namely, the lack of accuracy and blurred rests were no longer making him cringe with disgust. Instead, he barely noticed them anymore with Merlin. There were bigger things, things that overwhelmed you until there was nothing between the piano and that feeling of weightlessness in your heart.

"It's like…being in love," Merlin had said. Merlin, who was open with words and melodies and let people in without a second thought. "With love, nothing matters, right?"

"I suppose," said Arthur. "Hypothetically."

"Well," said Merlin, smiling, "why should music be any different?"

 


	8. EIGHT

:i:

 _ **Music in the soul can be heard by the universe.**_ _ **  
**_Lao Tzu

 

:i:

 _Tempo is everything_. Time – perceived differently by everyone but really…what's the _difference_? Some counted the moon, the sun. It was marked in the hands of the metronome, penned down in time signatures:  _three four,_ Merlin,  _three four._

It was a perfectly normal day. It was not the usual constriction that prevented breathing – it was the gradual realisation that there was less and less air in the room until Merlin was gasping. Then, a defined pain that made his hands jerk to a stop while he played one of Chopin's etudes. And then that pain got suddenly  _worse_ , it  _hurt_ to even to  _try_  to breathe. Merlin thumped himself hard beneath the ribs, something he learnt from therapy books to save money, trigger start your breathing. When that didn't help he turned away from the piano, desperately trying to breathe through his mouth. He was vaguely aware of Gaius standing, saying something –

But between one inhale the next, the world went speckled grey.

 

:i:

He woke up in the familiar white of the hospital. And as soon as he did, Will was leaning over him, shouting. He looked panicked, face white with relief or anger…maybe both. Merlin's thoughts were fuzzy around the edges, like happiness after sugar pastries. It took a moment for him to work out what Will was saying.

"…Fuck, Merlin,  _fuck you,_ Jesus Christ I thought you were- god  _dammit_ , fuck! I told you not to do this to me!"

Merlin frowned at his friend because… why was he in the hospital in the first place? If it was Will who forced him to one of those over expensive therapy sessions then Merlin was going to skin him alive. He was about to say just that, when something nudged up against the roof of his mouth and Merlin realised he was hooked up to the respiratory aid.

"Mr. Emrys," came a different voice from over Will's shoulder. The doctor. "It's good that you're awake," he said with a small smile. "I need check your breathing."

Merlin nodded, and the doctor sat down on the edge of the bed, stethoscope in hand

"Breathe slowly for me…that's it:  _in…out. In...out_."

On the other side of the bed, Will was holding Merlin's hand in an uncomfortably tight grip.  _Will was holding his hand_. Merlin giggled – or tried to. The doctor frowned at him disapprovingly, and Merlin went back to breathing.

"Mr. Emrys," said the doctor, "while you were unconscious, we did an x-ray examination of your chest in order to look at your lungs."

Merlin blinked to indicate that he was listening.

"When you were first bought in four hours ago, I detected absent breath sounds over your left lung, so sent for an x-ray to be done. Can you describe any abnormal pains you remember before you passed out?"

"In the chest," said Merlin. It came out rather muffled, through the tube, but the doctor seemed to understand. His expression was ominously serious, and Merlin glanced from him to Will (who was still holding his hand) and back again. He frowned.

"Why?"

"I'm afraid what you experienced is a symptom of what's commonly known as the collapse of the lung-"

" _What?_ " exclaimed Will. Merlin stared.

"It's not too serious at the moment. The air that had leaked into the cavity between your lungs has been extracted via the tube and we've given you strong antibiotics for the infection. But I have to stress that without further treatment, it is likely to worsen – especially with your condition."

 _Treatment._ Merlin would rather die early.

Will was holding his hand so hard Merlin could no longer feel his fingers.

"What kind of treatment?"

"Regular reportorial treatment to extract the air," said the doctor. "Ultimately surgery. It's difficult to tell at this stage."

"Is it covered under insurance?"

"That would…depend. I can find out for you and mail you the necessary paper work."

Merlin just wanted to go to sleep.

"Yes," said Will, "Thank you."

"I'm going to prescribe different antibiotics for you," the doctor said, addressing Merlin. Merlin gave him an unimpressed look, trying to sit up on the bed. Will pushed him back down into his pillow. "I'll just be a moment."

When the door swung shut, Will seemed to realised that he still had Merlin's hand in a death grip. He let go, and Merlin winced, wriggling his fingers tentatively.

"Collapse of the lung. Jesus.  _Jesus_ ," said Will, running a hand through his hair. It was less energetic today, a fluff of ungroomed colours instead of its usual spiky electrified form..

Merlin tried to reassure his friend with a smile, but Will was uncharacteristically solemn. His eyes were rimmed red, and Merlin felt a pang of guilt in his chest, the pain even worse than the one in his lung.

"God, I really thought you were going to suffocate or something, you weren't breathing and-" said Will, voice wavering dangerously, "I'm gonna get Lance. He's just outside."

And before Merlin could protest, Will had crossed to the door and opened it. A moment later, Lance stepped inside the room, worry etched clearly on his face.

"Merlin! Hey – you okay?"

Merlin nodded.

"He isn't fucking okay," Will exploded. "The doctor said he might need surgery."

"I don't," said Merlin as clearly as he could. Lance settled down in the chair next to his bed. His hands, he cradled a cup of something sweet smelling.

"I got you lemon tea," he said. "But I think you'll have to drink it later."

Merlin eyed the cup hopefully, but Will's expression stopped him from even trying to remove the tubes. He only sighed and sank back down onto the bed. If he fell asleep, they couldn't try to make him sign any forms or spend any money that he didn't have. Or ring his mother. God, he really hoped Will was smart enough not to ring his mum.

Merlin fell into an exhausted sleep, listening to the murmur of Lance and Will's voices, soothing and familiar. He dreamt that Arthur had marked in little commas into his Chopin.

"You have to breathe, alright?" he said, sternly. "Phrasing, Merlin, count! Take a breath, go on."

 

:i:

When he got back to his flat, Merlin crossed out three days instead of one. Neat squares on the calendar, marking down the days. The budgies greeted him in their usual way, Mozart and Wolfgang nibbling on his finger while he fed them bunch of treats to apologise for leaving them for so long.

The piano acted like Merlin had never left, folding him back within the comfort of music.

:i:

 

The second recital with Arthur was brilliant.

For one thing, Merlin didn't stop or falter, confidence boosted by their recent success and Arthur's visible confidence. The stage was warm, instead of harsh, the lights bright in a way that haloed Arthur's hair and made the piano shine. Merlin could imagine what they looked like to the people in the back row, two minute figures producing more music than any organism made out of carbon and water should be able to produce.

Perhaps it was because Arthur had given up trying got mould Merlin into something he wasn't, but the prat had begun to relax at long last. His shoulders were slopes instead of rigid lines, and he was no longer a living statue. They played fast, sparkling pieces: Liszt, bells, things that allowed both Arthur and Merlin to show off in the technical way that Arthur loved so much.

They also had Chopin: a simple adaption for violin and piano that made Merlin lose himself in the  _goldgoldgold_ of Arthur's violin. Impossibly sweet and impossibly sad, it was exhilarating to know that whatever he played, it would be alright. It would be  _right,_ because no one was going to care if it was different.It made Merlin want to play standing up, balanced on the pedals, the better to hear the sustained notes sing through to match Arthur's vibrato. He wanted to kick off his shoes and take off his tie (Arthur's gift) in a flourish of blue silk. But baby steps for Arthur. Merlin would hate to think what he would do if Merlin arrived barefoot on stage. But, if he played barefoot, Merlin would be able to feel all the music in the floorboards; he would know how  _tremolos_  would feel on bare toes? As Merlin thought, Arthur's hand shifted, smooth and practiced, into an impossible position. Artificial harmonics: he was scarily good at that.  _Bartok._

The sound of it made him shiver to his very soul, the stillness of it settling deep down, down, down until the music was part of you.

"You're not going to lose focus now, are you?" asked Arthur, grinning as they swigged complimentary mineral water in their dressing room. His shirt collar was sweat stained, and he shrugged off his suit jacket in order to change into another identical blood-red shirt. The old one was folded and put into a bag. Merlin rolled his eyes.

"No. Touch wood!"

Arthur laughed.

"You'll be fine."

Merlin couldn't help glowing under the praise.

Arthur took two encores: one a torrid of technical showmanship from Liszt's  _La Campanella_. When they walked offstage and the applause went on and on, Merlin hissed:

"I think they want you again!"

"No!" said Arthur, face scrunched up, "I don't do more than one encore. Father says-"

The applause did not die off. Someone whistled.

"Flight of the Bumblebee?" suggested Merlin, excitement making his breath catch in his throat. "It would be awesome, come  _on_ Arthur!"

"I'm not playing something so-"

Merlin pushed him back onto the stage. The applause swelled up into a roar, and Arthur had no choice but to grin and bear it. Merlin couldn't help grinning himself, the smile threatening to split his face in half. Arthur shot him a put-upon glare, but raised his violin. Merlin suddenly realised Arthur had never actually said  _yes_ so whatever he was going to play now better be-

/ embed FLIGHT OF THE BUMBLEBEE

Merlin nearly was stunned into silence, and he improvised the accompaniment – just notes and chords based on one orchestral recording he had heard a few years ago. The thrill of it made his heart race. Arthur was playing it so fast it was – it was  _really rather hot_. Merlin frowned at the piano and concentrated on keeping in time, concentrated on the flood of notes, each sharp and clear as the last. Arthur's fingers flew over the strings, bow a blur of polished wood.

The silence after he finished was so complete, you could have heard a pin drop. Then there was an explosion of noise. Merlin could see people standing; hear the thunderous applause vibrate through him. Arthur, the beautiful, brilliant prat, shot Merlin a triumphant look over the top of the piano. It was a look just for the two of them; breathless.

Then he turned to acknowledge his adoring audience with a bow and a nod.

 

:i:

Arthur deleted five missed-calls from his Father and made Merlin strawberry French puffs instead.

:i:

 

The Opportunity arose when Merlin camped out on Arthur's couch again one spring evening. They had been in the studio all afternoon, playing anything and everything Merlin could call up on his iPod because Arthur had made a ridiculous claim that there "was absolutely nothing" he couldn't play. Lady Gaga struck him dead for several minutes, and now Merlin had a whole jar of miniature meringues as his prize.

Life was  _good._

Anyway, back to the Opportunity. Merlin had been instructed to keep an eye on the oven whilst Arthur took a shower. Naturally, Merlin got bored after ten minutes and began wandering around the living room, looking at what DVDs Arthur had in his collection: _Pavarotti_ ,  _Red Hot: Vanessa Mae the Violin Player_  (if Merlin didn't know who Vanessa Mae was, he would have had to check whether it was porn or not) as well as countless live performances by various famous musicians. There were no films per se ( _Schindler's List_ didn't count _),_  and Merlin was disappointed not to find  _Inception._ He wasn't sure if it was actually out yet, but had desperately wanted to see it. But ten dollars of food beat ten dollars of film, so he hadn't had a chance.

Once he had exhausted Arthur's frankly boring CD collection, he tried to find ornaments or anything else that might be interesting. There was a photograph of a blond woman, a man with and a boy who looked about six. The head of blonde hair told Merlin it was Arthur. There was also a girl, who looked a little older, with dark curls plaited neatly down her back. Merlin didn't recognise her.

He stood there, staring at the photograph for a little while, before turning away. Then he spotted something shiny on the hook by the door.

On closer inspection, it was just Arthur's keys and driver's licence. Merlin ran a finger over the head-shot; Arthur had an extremely unimpressed look on his face. He chuckled, and turned the licence over.

That was when he spotted Arthur's birthday.

 

_11_ _th_ _October._

 

The sound of the shower stopped abruptly, and Merlin almost dropped the keys. Hastily, he hung them back on the hook and went to perch diligently back in front of the whirring oven. He thought he would catch of glimpse of Arthur in a towel (!) but, alas, Arthur was the sort of organised freak that had all his clothes neatly folded on the top shelf, ready to change, hence depriving Merlin of any ogling opportunities. But that was alright – Merlin had Arthur's  _birthday_  and hence a day on which to do…something. Merlin would get to that later.

The oven went off, beeping obnoxiously and Merlin stabbed the timer button with his thumb. The beeping stopped. Now he was supposed to… Ah. Er. Was he meant to add a few more seconds on, or take the tray out of the oven? He could see the shrimp things sizzling on a steel rack, dripping sauce and herbs onto a glass tray. Merlin's mouth watered. Surely the logical thing to do, when confronted with a beeping oven, was to open it?

Arthur would congratulate him for his initiative.

Unhooking Arthur's oven gloves off the handle of the larder, Merlin slipped them on and opened the door of the oven. And was almost knocked backwards by the waft of hot air. It smelt absolutely  _divine,_ and Merlin carefully reached for the handle of the glass tray. He slid it out of the oven, closed the oven by jerking it upwards with one knee while balancing the other, and, amazingly, did not break anything or burn his face.

Merlin turned around with the tray, beaming. He was just about to set it down on the kitchen bench when Arthur said:

"Wh- Merlin! I said to leave it in for another thirty seconds!"

Merlin nearly dropped the tray. Thankfully, he didn't.

"Uh-"

"DON"T put it down on the wooden surface without a cloth! It'll mark! Jesus, you're useless."

"Uh…" said Merlin eloquently. Arthur's hair was wet from the shower. It curled at his nape, and there was a trickle of water running down his neck. It was unfair: the combination of good food and Arthur within a meter of one another was a bit too much for Merlin's brain to cope with.

Arthur whipped out a wooden place-mat thing, covered it with a cloth and commanded:

"Okay, put it down. Carefully! Thank god."

"We don't need to put it back in, do we?" asked Merlin. He hoped not. "I'm  _starving_."

Arthur sliced open one of the shrimps deftly with a small knife. Sauce oozed. Merlin sniffed appreciatively – he loved shrimps.

"No, I think it's done. I didn't want you to bring it out because I thought you'd burn yourself," said Arthur, setting down the knife and going to take out plates from the cupboard.

"Your lack of faith wounds me," said Merlin, picking up the knife and poking the shrimp. The he speared a bit of herb and popped it into his mouth when Arthur was setting the table.

" _Bla_ -ow! Hot, hot hot-"

"Merlin!" exclaimed Arthur, exasperated while Merlin stuck his mouth beneath the sink. "Idiot!" he added. But when Merlin turned around, Arthur was handing him a glass full of his favourite grapefruit juice.

Shrimps, Merlin decided, were evil things. Delicious, but evil. It took him ten times as long to de-shell them as it took for him to eat them. Arthur had prepared some sort of rice dish, where you were supposed to crack open the shrimp over the rice and then mix the sauce together. Five minutes into the meal, Merlin decided to peel  _all_ his shrimps, so he could actually eat them without stopping.

Unsurprisingly, Arthur was good at de-shelling shrimps.

"It's going to go cold if you don't eat them first," he said, unhelpfully.

Merlin chopped off the head of his fourth shrimp with his fork, and took a mouthful of rice. He chewed while he began the tiring task of de-shelling.

"I can microwave it?" he suggested.

Arthur glared at him.

"You are not microwaving my food. Come on, just eat them. More capsicum?"

Merlin eyed the pile of colourful vegetables on the edge of his plate.

"No thank you," he said, pulling the tail off the shrimp with a tug and setting it aside with his other de-shelled shrimps. His stomach growled hungrily. Arthur the Prat looked as if he had already finished eating.

"You eat too fast," accused Merlin.

Arthur shrugged.

"I usually cook and eat by myself. Sometimes Morgana drops in, but it's not like there's any point wasting time, right?"

To that, there was no answer. Merlin peeled another shrimp.

"Oh for christ's sake," said Arthur, pushing his own plate away and tugging the rest of the shrimp towards himself. "I'll do this. Your hopelessness is making me cringe, letting all this good food go cold."

Arthur dipped his hands in the lemon water and wiped it on a clean napkin. Then he began  _de-shelling shrimps for Merlin._ There was something very special about the fact that Arthur was de-selling shrimps for Merlin. Either he thought Merlin was just that useless or he was being nice. It was all a bit confusing, to be honest. Merlin blinked, several times. Then rubbed his eyes – which led to shrimp sauce being  _in_  his eye. It stung.

"I'm alright!" he said, batting a hand as he blinked tears away. "Ow."

Arthur sighed.

"Just eat your dinner. Please."

Merlin ate his dinner.

 

:i:

"What do you want for your birthday?" asked Merlin.

Arthur Plushie frowned back at him.

Merlin sighed, slumping over the music stand on the piano. It had been three weeks since he had found out about Arthur's birthday – "You could have just googled, stupid," said Will – and Merlin still hadn't thought of a present. Lance had suggested music scores while Will suggested a whoopee cushion. Merlin googled around for likely music that Arthur wouldn't already own, but realise almost everything he wanted to get was either too expensive, or…too expensive.

He realised he knew remarkably little about Arthur, in a way. For one thing, he didn't really know Arthur's favourite food: the man cooked so many different things it was really hard to see a trend. He didn't seem to like chocolate – he gave all the truffles he made to Merlin in a fit of good spirits (not that Merlin was complaining). He didn't like confectionary and always complained about Merlin's bag of gummy worms (on even weeks), gummy bears (on odd ones).

So he had taken to asking Arthur Plushie, instead, but that hadn't been very helpful.

"A good brand of rosin? He's bound to run out of that," suggested Gaius when Merlin asked. So Merlin had surreptitiously been trying to find out Arthur's preferred brand of rosin. That took him a week, since Arthur was neurotic and didn't let anyone near his violin case so they couldn't breathe on the strings. Or something.

Merlin had copied down the name on his hand, then Googled for a shop that sold violin supplies. But it turned out that Arthur's rosin was about fifty dollars. Merlin was very glad he didn't play the violin.

"I don't' know what to get him," he complained to Lance the next day, "Even if I did get him rosin, it's not really that meaningful, is it?"

"Why does it have to be meaningful?" asked Will.

Merlin ignored him.

"Maybe you could make him something?" asked Lance, "A…Bach Plushie?"

As a symbol of friendship, Merlin had made Lance a  _Lancelot Plushie_ , complete with a bow-sword and felt violin. He had made one for Gwen as well, even though finding material for her hair was almost impossible. Will also had a plushie, but it was probably the least human-looking one, considering Merlin made it when he was ten. He couldn't tell Lance that Arthur Plushie couldn't be given to  _Arthur_ because Merlin wanted him.

"Maybe," said Merlin thoughtfully, "I don't think he is a plushie person though."

"He'll probably hate it," said Will nastily.

"Shut up," said Lance. "Maybe buy him cake? Can't go wrong with that, right?"

Merlin shook his head.

"Arthur will start complaining about how the cake was made. Or something."

"Oh," said Lance.

"Tell him he's getting old," suggested Will.

 

:i:

That afternoon, when Merlin emerged from the main building of the Conservatoire, there was a woman in a sharp looking suit waiting for him at the bottom of the steps. She had long, dark hair that were pulled back into a silky knot at the back of her head and silver framed glasses perched on her nose. Her eyes were an unusual shade of blue.

"Merlin Emrys?" she asked, raising a pencilled eyebrow.

Merlin smiled at her cautiously.

"Yep. Um."

"I'm Cara Lake – from London DECCA."

 _DECCA?_ Merlin was so surprised; he gaped at her for a moment before recovering his wits.

"Oh," he said articulately. Then. "Oh! Okay."

"You have great talent, Merlin," said Cara with a smile. "We would like to offer you a contract."

Merlin stared some more.

"Does it usually happen like this?" he asked, feeling a bit lost. Several passing students shot them curious looks, but otherwise there was relatively little reaction to Cara Lake, who couldn't look more out of place if she tried. Merlin thought it had something to do with the sharpness of her shoes.

"Not usually, no," agreed Cara. "But why wait on such a potential?"

Merlin blushed.

"I really don't think-"

"By all means talk to your manager," she said, reaching into her pocket and drawing out a white business card emblazoned with the blue-red logo of the recording label. "Give me a call in a few days, won't you?"

"Sure," said Merlin, tucking the business card into the front pocket of his bag. "Nice meeting you…?"

When he looked back up, Cara was gone.

 

:i:

"She said to talk to my manager but I don't have one!" cried Merlin, showing Arthur the card. "And I couldn't really tell her that, or she'll probably rethink about working with a noob like me. Gaius wasn't even there that day, so I couldn't really check with him, and isn't DECCA for famous people?"

"You're not a  _noob,"_ said Arthur, examining the business card. "Just an idiot. Please don't tell me you just said yes then and there."

Merlin rolled his eyes.

"No, I thought I'd better think about it first."

"Good, or they'll rob you blind," said Arthur.

Merlin picked his sleeves, pulling at a fraying strand of cotton.

"I have no idea what to do," he admitted.

"Good thing I'm your manager then, isn't it?" said Arthur casually, putting the card down on the table and turning away to his book shelf.

For the third time that week, Merlin was lost for words.

In all honesty, it was probably just as well Arthur stepped in. Without him, Merlin would have been utterly lost. For some reason, Gaius had looked faintly disapproving when he heard Cara's name,. But he refused to offer any wisdom (advice?) whatsoever. Hence, Merlin had no choice but to harass Arthur about it all, and it turned out to be a Very Wise Thing To Do – or so he thought at the time. Within a few days, Arthur was handing a paper file the size of a small rain forest and a polished pen.

"Here's the draft of the contract," said Arthur. "It's for a ten tracks."

"Um," said Merlin.

"There's…logistics to sort out, but otherwise…" Arthur hesitated, "it's fantastic."

"You don't sound excited," said Merlin, dubiously, peering at the small printed words.

Arthur snorted.

"They're offering a tentative one-off album. Five Chopins – The selection is on the fifth page, but the rest is completely up to you."

"Oh," said Merlin. Then he grinned. "I play anything I like?"

Arthur raised both eyebrows.

"Within reason – don't want to cut off your career at the start, do you?"

"Arthur. I want to be a kindergarten teacher back home," said Merlin. He waved a hand, "This is just all an unexpected…bonus?"

"Well," said Arthur, leaning back in his chair, "if you want to go all out and play rubbish then I can't really stop you."

That made Merlin pause.

"You can't?"

"You'll be flying to London to record; they don't have studios in Australia."

"LONDON?" repeated Merlin, voice rising in pitch. "Wait. And you're not coming?"

Arthur was flipping through a folder, but his eyes weren't moving. He didn't look up when he finally said;

"No."

"But you're my manager now!" protested Merlin. He added, "Don't you want to fly all the way to London? It'll be an adventure!" because Arthur was acting decidedly  _strange_ and not in a way Merlin liked either. His face was wiped of expression, eyes trained resolutely on the page in front of him.

"I can't hold your hand for the rest of your career,  _Mer_ lin," said Arthur tersely.

"But I don't want to go to London by myself," said Merlin, picking at the pages in confusion. "I'll get lost. I won't be able to afford the ticket anyway so-"

"They'll be paying," snapped Arthur, voice sharp, and Merlin blinked.

"Oh," he said, feeling like he had just been drenched in cold water. Arthur was  _still_ avoiding his eyes, and the silence lengthened uncomfortably. Merlin studied Arthur's face, worry curdling in his stomach, noting the tense line of Arthur's jaw, the way his lips turned down at the corners.

"Do you think I could bring a fr-"

"For heaven's sake, just do what you want!" shouted Arthur, flinging the folder onto top of the piano and making Merlin jump. He strode over to the floor to ceiling windows and stared out of it, back towards Merlin. His shoulders were tense beneath the fabric of his shirt, one hand resting against the glass. Outside, the sky was so blue it was like looking into a reflection of the sea. Boats, white yachts and sailing boats could be seen in the distant harbour, while the city stretched out beneath.

"What's wrong?" asked Merlin, and then screwed his face up in preparation for more shouting.

But Arthur didn't say anything, only stood there. His shadow stretched across the floor of the studio, a dark grey stain that blended in with Merlin's own.

"I can't come to London with you," said Arthur quietly.

"Because you're busy?" asked Merlin, turning around on his seat. "You deserve a holiday. I'm serious."

A dry chuckle.

"I'm busy, yeah. But that's not the reason."

"You hate London?"

Silence.

"I've never been overseas," said Merlin, chewing on his lower lip. He was desperate to fill in the empty space that had opened up between the two of them. "Never seen London but I've seen pictures. I want to ride in one of the red buses. And hide in a telephone box. I think it'll be fun! Surely it can't be that horri-"

"I don't hate  _London_ , Merlin," said Arthur, still staring out the window. "It's just…I can't really travel."

Merlin frowned.

"Plane sick?"

Arthur laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. It was self-depreciating and dry, and it made Merlin's heart ache.

"Something like that."

There was a long minute of silence; there wasn't even the sound of a clock ticking. Merlin stroked the edge of a key, running this finger along the curved dip that led onto another note, waiting patiently. Finally Arthur said;

"I was in an accident. My mother died on that flight and-" Arthur turned around, mouth pressed tightly closed, emotion raw on his face. "Just thinking about- what if  _you_  –"

And suddenly Merlin realised Arthur was  _worried_ about him. The realisation was warm and wonderful, and it tugged him towards Arthur because the latter looked- Taking a deep breath, Merlin launched himself off the stool and wrapped his arms around Arthur's middle in the tightest hug he could manage.

Arthur said, " _Oomph_!"

"I'm really sorry about your Mother."

"Don't-"

"But… I'm really not going to die on a plane. Trust me," said Merlin, a lump in his throat. "I have more chance of getting hit by lightening or something, right?  _You'll_  have a huge chance of getting hit by lightening, since your head is so big."

Arthur's hands were warm and tentative, curling up to reciprocate the hug. His shoulders were still tense and awkward in Merlin's arms, and Merlin shivered when Arthur's palm came to rest in the small of his back. It felt…nice. Merlin closed his eyes and allowed himself to  _pretend_.

"I'm not sure being struck of lightening is reassurance, Merlin," said Arthur at long last.

Merlin laughed.

"It should be."

"Right."

Neither of them moved.

"Is this Hallmark moment over yet?" asked Arthur, voice stronger, more Prattish. Reluctantly, Merlin stepped back. Arthur averted his eyes and turned away from the window.

"I- uh…lunch?" suggested Arthur, already half way towards the stairs. Merlin beamed.

"Cheesecake?"

 

:i:

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU TURNED IT DOWN?"

Merlin winced.

"I just said I'd think about it for-"

Will thumped the cafe table, as if his outburst hadn't been drawing enough attention already. They were sitting in a bustling café just off the main street. Term had officially ended the day before, and Lance had decided they should all go out and treat themselves to nice, proper meal. He had invited Gwen along…Gwen who was looking a little shell-shocked at Will's reaction. Lance patted Merlin on the back sympathetically as Will continued:

"What is there to think about? What is there to think about? I mean seriously. SERIOUSLY? You turned down DECCA? Are you nuts? You're nuts. I can't believe we're related."

"We're not related, Will," Merlin pointed out.

"That's not the point, is it?" said Will, gesturing wildly and then spilling coke everywhere.

"Mate, you need to calm down," said Lance. "If Merlin didn't want to sign then he didn't want to sign. I don't see the problem-"

"The  _problem_ ," said Will, looking quite mad, "is that Merlin is a  _little stupid idiot_."

"Cheers," said Merlin, tipping his supplements into his palm and downing them all in one go. He nearly gagged on the orange juice.

"I just don't get it. Why did you say no?"

"I didn't say no," said Merlin, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I just don't want to mess up uni – if I go, I'll probably be gone for at least two months. It's just not a good time-"

"NOT A GOOD TIME?"

"I think I have stuff by DECCA," said Gwen, sipping her frappucino.

"You're always going on about opportunities and living for the moment and all that zen bullcrap – this is completely against your M.O! It's DECCA, for crying out loud, Merlin. It's like your career on a plate!"

"Can we talk about something else?" Merlin pleaded.

When Will looked like he was going to insist on continuing the discussion, Lance unsubtly kicked him beneath the table.

Two weeks later, Will caught Merlin coughing up blood in the bathroom. Overriding all protests, he essentially dragged Merlin into the car and drove him to hospital. Merlin couldn't even win the shouting match in the car because he was too busy trying to breathe. He pulled his knees to his chest, curling himself double in an attempt to elevate the pain in his chest. It didn't help.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck," Will muttered beneath his breath. "Come on, Merl. It's not – come on."

The doctor performed another x-ray, stuck another tube down Merlin's throat and rambled on about useless things. Merlin only caught some of the words: ;  _hospitalisation, treatment, antibiotics, terminal_. He was too tired to care _._

"I'm not staying in hospital," said Merlin bluntly.

"Merlin-"

"Mr. Emrys," said the doctor, "you  _must_ realise the gravity of your condition. If you do not undergo immediate treatment, I'm afraid there is very little we can do once the rupturing of-"

Merlin waved one hand, turning away.

"I don't care."

"Jesus Christ!" said Will. "Can you just be serious this once?"

"I'm not going to waste my life away in a stupid hospital!" shouted Merlin, voice hoarse. "Getting cut open for stuff that won't' even help me. I can't afford the treatments!"

"I'm calling your mother-"

"Will," said Merlin -is hands were shaking - "if you worry my mother – if you tell her- I'm never talking to you again."

Will glared at him, hands clenched with frustration.

"It's not that bad," said Merlin, glancing at the doctor. "It's not like I'm going to die tomorrow, right?"

The man sighed.

"I don't know," he said, adjusting his glasses. "The continued leaking of air from your lungs suggests a more serious condition than I had previous thought. It indicates that you may have tension pneumothorax. This means that if you do not consent to surgery or come in for regular treatments to extract the air, then you risk more (great, irreversible) damage to the structure of your lungs."

"He was coughing blood," said Will, white-faced.

"The pockets of air can damage your blood vessels," continued the doctor. "Mr Emrys - it _will_ be fatal if not treated appropriately."

" _God_ -" said Will, turning away from the bed. "God."

"Can't afford surgery. Can't afford the treatments.," said Merlin.

"Goddamit, Merlin!" snapped Will. "You-"

"It's not up to you!" said Merlin, glaring at his best friend. "It's not your decision to make. If you can't keep it to yourself, then get out."

"Merl-"

" _I mean it_ , Will."

Will shot Merlin a hurt, betrayed look before he stormed out of the hospital room. The door slammed shut behind him, making the glass shudder. Merlin listened to the fading footsteps until they disappeared. Then he sank back onto the bed, closing his eyes to try to stop the tears from falling.

"Mr. Emrys-" the doctor began, but Merlin cut him off.

"When can I go home?"

 

:i:

Merlin walked home. On the way, he passed a music store, its windows full of violins and cellos. Hesitating for a moment, he crossed the road and made his way into the store. As soon as he stepped inside, he was enveloped by the familiar scent of rosin and wood that reminded him instantly of Arthur.

Merlin smiled to himself, breathing in.

"Can I help you?"

Merlin blinked at the shop assistant, who was a pretty girl with curly hair like Gwen's. She was wearing black and white as if she had just stepped off a stage in her orchestra uniform. Merlin smiled.

"Do you – could you point me towards the rosin?"

"Sure thing," she said, beaming, "Any particular brand? Violin or cello?"

"Um, violin," said Merlin.

The girl led him through a maze of wooden shelves until they reached a display of rosin, some of which was uncovered and shined amber beneath cabinet lights. She unlocked the case with a key from the lanyard around her neck.

"We've got Piastro. It's very popular," she said, handing Merlin a circular box.

"Do you have Andrea?" asked Merlin, remembering the name he had scribbled down.

The girl looked surprised for a moment; then she slid back the case further and reached inside for a black box.

"Yes. we do. Here."

Merlin took it. The rosin looked more or less the same as all the other rosins on display. But it must have been special for some reason, other than the price tag. Merlin swallowed and said impulsively, "I'll take it."

The girl beamed at him and took the box away to wrap up. Her fingers flew over the till while Merlin dug for his wallet.

"That will be fifty-three ninety," she said.

When Merlin got back to his apartment, it was very late in the afternoon. He placed Arthur's rosin on top of his piano so he wouldn't lose it. He then put the kettle to boil, so he could cook noodles for dinner. Taking Arthur Plushie out of his bag, Merlin set him down on the mattress and began searching through his scrap-material box. He found a large piece left over that could be used for skin and began pencilling in the outline for another plushie. He used Arthur Plushie for reference.

Half-way through cutting out the template, the kettle started whistling. Sighing, Merlin put down his scissors and went to his cupboard where all the packets of noodles were kept in order of flavour; evidence of organisation skills, thought Merlin smugly. Picking out the chicken-ramen, Merlin peeled off the foil-cover and brought it over to the small sink in the corner of the apartment. Then he poured the boiled water into the noodle-cup, watching the steam rise, curl over his hands and tickle his nose. The flavoured powder made Merlin sneeze.

The smell of it was familiar. Merlin had lived on noodles for the better part of the last three years. He thought a little longingly of Arthur's cooking but decided he had become too spoilt for his own good. There was nothing wrong with noodles.

It took him a few moments to hunt down a fork, but Merlin finally found one and used it to keep the foil-lid shut while the noodles 'cooked'. Merlin went back to his bed. He picked the scissors and resumed cutting.

 

:i:

_11_ _th_ _October 2010._

To be honest, Arthur had half forgotten. They were in the middle of playing a Mozart concerto when Merlin suddenly jumped up and screamed:

"SURPRIIIIIIIIIIISE!"

He nearly caused Arthur to have a heart attack and drop his violin.

"Jesus!" he said, dodging out of the way before Merlin could tackle him in a hug. "What the-"

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" sang Merlin, in a pitch that reminded Arthur of the time he was singing Broadway musicals, and Arthur could practically hear the all-caps. He hastily set his violin down before anything happened to it. Beaming, Merlin pulled out two brightly wrapped packages from his messenger bag. He thrust them under Arthur's nose with a flourish.

"Oh!" said Arthur, feeling a blush rising in his face. "That's-"

"I was going to get you a cake," said Merlin. "But I thought you'd be a prat and complain about the cream or something, so I didn't."

"I don't usually celebrate birthdays," said Arthur truthfully, taking the presents. "Morgana usually just gets me drunk for the night."

"That is stupid," said Merlin frankly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Go on, unwrap them. No! The small one first."

"Okay…" said Arthur, raising an eyebrow. He set the larger, lumpy-squishy package down on the piano and began peeling back the sello-tape of the small package, careful not to tear the paper. Merlin looked like he was going to explode from anticipation, eyes trained on Arthur's face, waiting for his reaction.

Sliding the glossy wrapping paper off, Arthur stared at the black box in his hand. It was rosin. It was  _his_ rosin, brand new and… When did Merlin find out about his favourite rosin? Arthur let out a huff of surprise as something suspiciously like happiness filled his lungs. He looked up to meet Merlin's eyes.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "I- Thanks Merlin."

Merlin's smile grew even wider, showing his teeth and making the corners of his eyes crinkle. Arthur quickly looked back down at his present.

"Do you like it?"

Arthur laughed, "Yes – of course I do. It's awesome. Better than cake."

"Open the other one," Merlin insisted, pulling his bag towards him. Arthur took the other package and unwrapped the paper. It felt very soft.

It was a Plushie.

"Er…" said Arthur, staring at the felt plushie in his hands. It had black hair and blue-thread eyes, and it was wearing jeans and a miniature hoodie. A ridiculous grin had been sewn onto its face, stretching from ear to ear. There was also a lollipop stuck in the pocket of its jeans. All it all, it looked suspiciously like-

"Is this  _you_?" he asked incredulously. Merlin waved Arthur Plushie in the air.

"See? Now we match."

"Right," said Arthur, holding the Merlin Plushie at arm's length. He held it up next to Merlin's face, comparing, and Merlin grinned like the Cheshire cat. The resemblance was uncanny. Arthur stared and stared. He wasn't quite sure what to feel – and didn't really want to examine the symbolism of this present too closely. There was an awkward pause.

"I mean," said Merlin, smile sliding a little after an awkwardly long pause, "you don't  _have_ to keep him. I just thought… It's a joke… Okay, it's a bit stupid… Just give him back then…"

"No," said Arthur, lifting the plushie out of Merlin's reach. "You can't make me return a present, Merlin."

Merlin's smile made Arthur's stomach do a strange acrobatic routine. It flip-flopped. Clearing his throat, Arthur poked the Plushie's tummy with one finger. It was actually quite nice to hold in his hand, like a Merlin-shaped stress toy.

"I think it's too fat to be you," he commented, putting the rosin in his violin case and taking the Plushie with him, as they made their way downstairs for an early lunch. "Not a very good representation, is it?"

"There's just no pleasing some people!" exclaimed Merlin, indignantly. "I think it  _looks_ like me!"

"It doesn't have your cheekbones," said Arthur and then blushed when he realised what he had said. Merlin on the other hand, seemed oblivious and made a beeline for the kitchen.

"Don't be a Scrooge," said Merlin.

"I'm sorry,  _Mer_ lin," said Arthur, grinning, "I do respect your mini-me.  _He_  is quiet and does what he's told. See, I'll demonstrate.  _Merlin_ , go sit quietly over there."

Arthur placed the plushie on the breakfast bar, propped up against a glass bowl of fruit. Merlin Plushie smiled back.

"See?"

"You prat!" Merlin spluttered.

Later, when they had an argument over the pros and cons of Mozart's taste in wigs – Arthur thought historical accounts were inaccurate while Merlin insisted they were accurate and that the wigs were a true judge of character – Arthur made his plushie launch an attack on Merlin Plushie over the top of the piano. Merlin then had to defend himself and, in the process, nearly upset an entire shelf of CDs. They ended up yelling like idiots until Arthur was red in the face with his tie askew and his hair sticking up on end.

Merlin Plushie won.

 

:i:

The DECCA contract draft lay gathering dust beneath Merlin's piano.

:i:

 

Merlin fell asleep on the couch while Arthur prepared dinner.

There was something about the scene that made Arthur pause, just as he was about to push Merlin off the couch to wake him up. It made him stop, throat suddenly dry and heart suddenly aching. The clock in the living room went  _tick tick tick,_ and, outside, the wind curled against the double-glazed windows. If the speakers had been playing Debussy, Arthur would have heard the lull hush of the harbour in the music along with the reflection of city lights bright in the accidentals. But the apartment was silent, save for the sizzling of the fish in the pan and the sound of Merlin's breathing. It was a Thursday evening – just a normal Thursday. It didn't lead to anything exciting or important; it was just a day between yesterday and tomorrow.

It wasn't the first time that Merlin fell asleep on Arthur's couch. He fell asleep all over the place, often napping against the window of Arthur's car until a sharp corner woke him up. But it was the first time that Arthur realised how  _domestic_ this all was and that nothing had ever felt so comfortable, so warm, so…

"Hey," said Arthur, taking Merlin's shoulder in one hand. He shook, gently. Merlin mumbled something beneath his breath, turning into the leather of the couch. "Merlin, wake up. Food. Come on."

Merlin didn't stir.

Arthur sighed. He straightened up, making his way back to the kitchen. He slid the fillets onto a large dish, then poured the sauce into small glass bowels to keep. He then pulled a piece of foil from its roll, covered the fish, and then slid the whole thing into the refrigerator. The sauce went into the non-frost compartment along with the lemon slices and herb seasoning.

Then Arthur went into his bedroom. He took the spare blanket, the one Merlin had used a month ago, from the top of his wardrobe and went back to the living room. Then he covered Merlin with the blanket, making sure feet weren't sticking out the end.

"Honestly," he said into the silence, "you have officially ruined my fillet."

Merlin pouted in his sleep.

Arthur turned off the living room lights, leaving only the corridor lit. Then he took the stairs up to his studio where he opened a half-filled manuscript folder. The paper was smooth, yet slightly yellow with age, the five staves running from edge to edge. Empty, like silence, ready to be painted on. Arthur opened the lid of the piano, propped up the music stand, and dug a pen out of his pocket.

By the wall, Merlin Plushie sat on his violin case.

Arthur began to write.

 

:i:

"Gwen!" said Merlin, surprised. She didn't usually turn up on campus that often. Sometimes she came to see Lance, but, otherwise, she had afternoon shifts at the pharmacy Today she sat at their usual cafeteria table, sipping orange soda and eating one of those shake-in-a-bottle salads.

Merlin dropped his tray onto the plastic table.

Gwen gave him a little wave. "Hi! How's Gaius?" she asked.

"Usual," said Merlin, sliding into his seat. He kicked Will's chair so he would move over. "A bit grumpy over something, but otherwise okay."

"I keep telling you that he's not going to kill his star pupil," said Gwen, smiling. Merlin rolled his eyes.

"Once this," he waved his hand vaguely, "all dies down, he'll be back to metronome-ing me. By the way, aren't you supposed to be selling drugs?"

Gwen snorted with laughter.

"Yes and no. I have a free day today, so I came to see you guys."

Merlin started to unwrap his sandwich. He wasn't particularly fond of the cafeteria sandwiches, but they came $2 along with a drink and cookie. It was turkey today, and he took a bite with relish. When he looked up half way through his third mouthful, he found Gwen still staring at him.

"Whu-?" said Merlin.

"Food! Talking!" said Lance.

Merlin swallowed quickly. "Sorry. Gwen?"

Lance sighed. "You might as well just  _ask."_

"Ask what?" said Merlin and Will simultaneously. Gwen blushed prettily and hid behind her soda can.

"But I feel bad! It's like exploiting your friends."

"It's not!" Lance protested. "Look. If you're not going to ask, I will."

"You can't!" said Gwen, poking Lance hard in the chest. Merlin saw Lance wince; Gwen's fingernails were manicured and rather sharp when used as implements of torture. "Fine. Fine."

"What?" said Merlin, bewildered.

"."

A pause.

"Er…pardon?" asked Merlin, blinking. Beside Gwen, Lance was rolling his eyes.

Gwen took a deep breath.

"Our pharmacy supports cancer research, along with the student group I'm part of. Yes?"

"…yes?" agreed Merlin, still a little confused.

"And the annual charity concert is coming up. In less than two months."

Merlin made a face.

"I thought that was a rock concert, with bands and stuff."

"What have you got against rock music?" said Will, bristling like his hair. Gwen shut him up with a wave of her hand.

"Well, not strictly. The thing is, we want to attract as many people as possible right? And we just thought. Well."

There was another long pause. Merlin wasn't sure whether he was allowed to keep eating his sandwich or not. He took a tentative bite.

"You're close to Arthur Pendragon, aren't you?"

Merlin gagged in surprise, spluttering as the food couldn't decide to go down or back up. Coughing, he said:

"You want  _Arthur_ to play at a  _rock concert?"_

"See, I told you they were on first name terms," said Lance, smugly.

"What the fuck?" shouted Will. "Seriously?"

"Don't be jealous, mate," said Lance, and Will threw his empty chip wrapper at Lance's head. It missed and fell under the table.

"It's not a rock concert! It's…a range of…different genres," said Gwen.

"You're not fooling anyone," snapped Will. "Pendragon? REALLY?"

"He's famous! And good looking! Not that  _you're not_ – well, what I mean is-"

"I'm not sure if rock concerts are his M.O," said Merlin doubtfully. He was a little distracted at the image Arthur would make, playing on a stage to a screaming, possibly hyperventilating audience. He would be wearing jeans and a t-shirt, not a suit. Merlin thought that Arthur in jeans was very appealing, and he could understand why Gwen and the charity would want to utilise this visual weapon in their Quest for Good. It was a good cause. He was sure that Arthur would support a good cause, right?

"But it's not a rock concert!" said Gwen again. "I mean, he can play that piece on his latest album – the Bumblebee one? Just one! At the end."

"Fine," said Merlin.

"WHAT?" screeched Will.

"Don't you have to ask him first?" said Gwen tentatively. Her eyes were round and shining with hope, and she was so  _nice_ Merlin didn't have the heart to say anything less than 'Yes'.

"No, he'll do it," said Merlin, smiling.

"Oh gosh- really?"

"Yeah," said Merlin, feeling less sure with each answer. Without warning, Gwen flung herself out of her chair and gave Merlin a suffocating hug. His vision was suddenly obscured by curly brown hair and all he could smell was her light and citrus-y perfume.

"Gwen!"

Gwen let go, looking flushed and excited. She bounced a little on the balls of her feet.

"Mark is going to be _so_  pleased. Thank you  _so much,_  Merlin! You're the best friend in the world."

"The very best," corrected Merlin.

"The very best," Gwen agreed, settling back into her seat.

"I deserve a medal," Merlin added. "At the very least, gummy bears. The  _Starburst_  kind."

"I'll give you so much sugar you'll  _rot,"_ said Gwen, batting her eyelashes. Lance, full of zen as ever, fished an olive out of Gwen's salad and popped it into his mouth.

"What the fuck?" said Will.

 

:i:

"Merlin," asked Arthur warily, "what are you doing?"

Merlin spun around.

"Nothing," he said, looking decidedly shifty.

"I thought you just came downstairs to get your bag," said Arthur, raising an eyebrow.

"Um," said Merlin.

"What were you really doing?"

"Nothing."

"Then what's that behind you?"

Merlin gave Arthur a hopeful smile, full of teeth and dimples. Arthur sighed, forcibly shoving Merlin aside. Behind him, on the arm of the couch, were Arthur and Merlin Plushie. Merlin Plushie was holding a huge chocolate heart the size of Arthur's palm, and Arthur Plushie was looking decidedly unimpressed (though, to be fair, that was how he always looked).

"Uh…" said Arthur, unsure whether he should be disturbed or appreciative. He glanced at Merlin quickly and then away. Merlin often did things that were confusing or downright odd. Since Arthur's birthday, Arthur had to get used to his Plushie and Merlin Plushie carrying out arguments that Merlin were too pissed off to voice. Once, he even caught Merlin with the two stuffed toys, carrying out an entire conversation by himself. It was by no doubt the weirdest thing that ever happened in Arthur's studio.

"I have a favour to ask," said Merlin, and he was fidgeting more than usual, eyes darting from Arthur to the Plushies repeatedly.

"Should I be worried?" asked Arthur, crossing to the kitchen and coming back with two glasses which he set on the bench. "Orange juice?"

"Don't you want your chocolate?" asked Merlin. The note of hope in his voice was unmistakable. Arthur smirked.

"I'll eat it after I hear about the details. Now tell me."

"Okay. Okay. Well. You know how the Canteen cancer research charity concert thing is being held in that open-air theatre? The one by the coast? Up north? Ish?"

"Yes, I do know that, even with your vague descriptions. Pulp?"

"Yes, please," said Merlin. "So this year they're asking if you can play at the concert. As the closing act."

Arthur nearly dropped the jug.

"You can't be serious. I'm a classical artist! They have – they have  _boy bands_!"

Merlin was wringing his hands, and the way his lips were beginning to pout indicated that, any moment now, he was going to turn on the Bambi look. Arthur focused on pouring the orange juice to exactly the same height in both glasses. Like Bach, orange juice was very good for the soul.

"They want you to play 'Flight of the Bumblebee,'" said Merlin.

"Great," said Arthur, setting the jug down. "Now they want  _me_ to be shallow too. No."

"Please?" Merlin pleaded, and Arthur  _wasn't going to look his way._ He had standards; he had lines against such things.

He also had conviction to hold out against Merlin who was an  _idiot_ and assumed that because Arthur gave him food and maybe talked to him a few times a day, he could go around telling Arthur what to do! It was unacceptable behaviour.

"No," said Arthur, "I would look ridiculous."

"You won't!" protested Merlin. "They'll love you! It'll be awesome and h-  _impressive._ "

Arthur drank his orange juice. He counted the pulp in the juice. He could feel Merlin sidling up. He smelt of sugar, lemons, and something that was probably budgie-food.

"Merlin, you of all people should know that fast notes are the mark of a mediocre musician," said Arthur, echoing his father.

"But you like fast notes," said Merlin.

Arthur paused.

"Yes, alright. But it doesn't mean I can just suddenly start making Flight of the Bumblebeeas my theme song."

There was a long moment of silence. Arthur risked a glance sideways and found Merlin looking pensive and melancholy. From this angle, his eyelashes were dark sweeps against pale skin. It was extremely unfair that Merlin's proximity had an adverse effect on Arthur's logic and reason.

"I told Gwen you'd do it. She'll kill me if you don't…" said Merlin.

Arthur sighed, rubbing his face with a hand.

"You told her  _yes_? Without asking me?"

"It's for cancer research and children with  _cancer_!" said Merlin, sounding hurt.

"Fine!" said Arthur, giving in, "Alright. I'll play bloody Rimsky-Korsakov for the plebeians. Happy now?"

The smile Merlin gave him was heart stopping, worth its weight in every word his Father was bound to say to him after the whole affair. Arthur poured himself another glass of orange juice and wondered how he had found himself  _here._ He found he couldn't much regret anything, not when Merlin was smiling like that.

:i:


	9. NINE

:i:

 _ **Music can change the world because it can change people.**_ _ **  
**_Bono

 

:i:

It's funny, in a way, that having a hole in your lung felt just the same as being in love.

:i::i:

"Arthur," said Merlin, over a plate of quiche, "I was thinking..."

"That can't be a good thing," said Arthur, flipping a page of the magazine which was open next to his elbow.

Merlin cut a corner off his quiche and stuck it in his mouth, chewing to give himself time to work out how to word his question.

"Have you ever played on an electric violin before?" he asked.

"No," said Arthur simply, turning another page.

"Do you want to?"

"Not particularly. Why?"

Merlin chased a piece of sun-dried tomato across his plate. He loved sun-dried tomatoes; they had the power to make anything pizza-flavoured. Hence, he had put an entire half jar into Arthur's quiche. Arthur had been fairly cross; he'd said something about recipes being a work of art But the quiche turned out to be absolutely delicious.

"Well, I was thinking," Merlin said again, "maybe you should play Bumblebee on an electric violin instead. At the concert."

Arthur gave him an unimpressed look, eyebrows raised and a forkful of food half way to his mouth.

"I...don't think so. I'm playing at an amateur rock concert, Merlin. Let's take this one step at a time alright?"

"But an electric violin would sound amazing!" said Merlin, "Better than a mic'd one right?"

"No," said Arthur. He turned another page of the magazine, though his eyes were still fixed on his food.

"I think you should try something new," said Merlin. "You just said you've never played on an electric violin before. How do you know you won't like it?"

"My father would have a seizure," said Arthur, dryly, setting his fork down and reaching for his glass of water, "and I'm not sure what my feelings are towards something so...plastic," he added with a wince.

"They look cool," said Merlin, sulkily, picturing Arthur holding an electric violin. He shifted in his chair.

"Look – would you rather play on a keyboard or a grand piano?" asked Arthur.

"Grand piano," answered Merlin immediately. "But the electric ones have different sound effects that are fun to play with."

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Alright, your answer doesn't count-"

"Please?"

" _Merlin._ "

" _Arrrrthur."_

"No!"

They stared at each other across the table for a long moment before Merlin picked up his fork again and resumed eating. He was sure Arthur would come around to the idea, but he had less than a week left to convince him.

"It wouldn't look right if you played the classical violin at a concert like this," said Merlin, around a mouthful of tomato.

"Fair enough," said Arthur. "Then I won't play."

Merlin glared at him.

"Prat."

They fell into a comfortable silence, punctuated occasionally by the sound of cutlery and chewing. Outside, it was a clear day, and the view across the bay was vivid blue and uncluttered by rain or fog. Merlin made a mental list of all the things he had to convince Arthur to do: wear jeans instead of a suit suits. Play an electric violin rather than the wooden one. Buy more sundried tomatoes. He cut himself another piece of quiche from the tray and sighed. It was going to be an awful lot of work.

"If I borrowed Will's violin, would you at least try it out?" asked Merlin hopefully. Will would need  _a lot_  of convincing. Perhaps Merlin shouldn't tell Will why he wanted to borrow his violin. His best friend was very attached to his instrument and, like his hair, tended to it with the upmost care.

"Christ! If you have any sense of self preservation, you will  _not_ ask Will," said Arthur, pushing his empty plate away. "He would probably assassinate me. Or you. Or us both."

"You're not important enough to be assassinated," said Merlin, grinning "It would just be an unfortunate accident."

"Excuse me," said Arthur, looking indignant, "I'll have you know that I am  _extremely_ important in the music world. You can't go around judging people by your ignorant standards."

"Hmm," said Merlin, "does that mean you'll try the violin then?"

Arthur pushed back his chair and took his plate and glass to the sink.

"Merlin. I am not going to play with plastic, alright?"

"You don't even know what it'll sound like!"

"On the contrary, I do know what-"

"Wait," said Merlin, remembering suddenly "you have Vanessa Mae on your shelf! Don't you want to try playing like that?"

Arthur crossed his arms, leaning back against the sink.

"She plays everything in first position. There is hardly any technical skill there. Why -"

"But you have her on your shelf!" insisted Merlin, "You have next to Kriesler! You must like her!"

"Look, I just don't want to play on a bloody electric violin," said Arthur stubbornly. "It's for-"

"If you say amateurs," said Merlin warningly, "I will impale you on this fork."

Arthur rolled his eyes, turning the tap on and rinsing off his plate.

"You and your idle threats," he said over his shoulder. "If you kill me with a fork, who will cook you lunch?"

"You can't blackmail me with food," said Merlin, taking another bite of quiche. It was really very nice quiche. He had helped to make that quiche - thank you very much - and thought that it showed his all-around awesomeness..

"You might find that I could," said Arthur. "After all, there's nothing to say I must make pastries with those apples over there."He nodded towards the refrigerator.

The comment sidetracked Merlin completely.

"You're going to make pastries?" he asked, fork falling with a clatter onto the floor. The last time Arthur made pastries, Merlin had eaten them all so fast he was sick.

"I  _could._ But I could also make salad instead. Or donate the apples to... someone. Pick up your fork, please, before you get more food on the ground. Then there'll be ants everywhere!"

"I hate you," said Merlin, trying to pick up his fork with his feet. He hooked it between his toes and managed to draw it up to the table by lifting his knees. He let out a shout of triumph that made Arthur turn around.

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Give that here and get a new one," he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"Thirty-second rule," said Merlin,. But he droppedthe fork in the sink happily and rooted around in the drawer for another one.

Arthur gave him a small kick in the ankle.

"You'd find that is the  _two-_ second rule, Merlin, not thirty seconds."

"Where I'm from, you do not waste food," said Merlin, returning to his seat and resuming his lunch. A third helping of quiche was always so much nicer than those supplement tablets, he thought, chewing enthusiastically.

"It's amazing how much of my cooking you have consumed," said Arthur, "Yet how you're still thin as a stick."

"It's because the piano gives me a work-out," said Merlin, "Maybe if you played the electric violin it would be better for your diet."

Arthur was elbow deep in the sink at this point, and he paused at Merlin's words.

"You're not going to shut up about this, are you?"

Merlin pretended to think about it. He thought about the caprices Arthur secretly liked because of their fast notes, about the pieces that sparkled with double stopping and _pizzicato._ He thought about Arthur's not-so-secret love for the impossibly difficult pieces, not because he liked them, but because they screamed:  _I am better than you._ It was more of a compulsion. He thought about how Paganini and Rachmaninov would sound on the electric violin: smooth and streamlined.

"No," said Merlin, giving Arthur the biggest smile he could muster up. "If you don't try you'll never know!"

"Jesus," said Arthur. He went to rub his eyes with one hand, but ended up with soap bubbles on his nose instead. "I'll go hire out one tomorrow and prove to you how horrendous they are. Happy now?"

Merlin eyed the last piece of quiche. It had a particularly large piece of tomato, sitting there beneath the cheese. Arthur must have saw him deliberating because he sighed and said;

"Just eat it, I can always make more."

On the other end of the table, Arthur Plushie and Merlin Plushie surveyed the scene from their vantage point beside the truffle jar.

 

:i::i:

Merlin was half way through his etude when his cell phone rang. It was another minute before he pulled it out of his bag. It was an unknown caller, and Merlin hesitated before flipping the cell phone open.

"Hello?"

"Merlin Emrys?" came a faintly-familiar voice. "This is Cara Lake."

Merlin's sock-clad foot slipped off the piano pedals in surprise, making a resonating sound ring through the body of the grand.

"Miss Lake-"

"CaraCara, please."

Merlin swallowed.

"Cara. How can I help you?"

She laughed, the sound a little tinny through the wires.

"Merlin, I'm just wondering if you've changed your mind."

Merlin stared at the piano keys, counted black, white, black, white before answering.

"No, I'm afraid not. I've got…prior commitments that I can't really, um."

"But think about the  _opportunity_ I'm offering –"

Merlin rubbed his left eye with the heel of his free hand. He had been dreading this conversation, dreading the feeling that he might really be passing something up. But he couldn't bear the look on Arthur's face, if Merlin got to fly and he didn't. He could imagine what Arthur would feel, if Merlin went to London,if Merlin, who was less well-known, less talented, rode to London on Arthur's glory. He didn't want to do that. Arthur meant too much.

"Look Miss L- Carla. I really can't afford to go to England, like I've said and I've still a month until I finish my degree. I really have to say no."

There was a pause.

"Merlin, let me tell you something," she said at last, and Merlin shivered at the tone of her voice. "Don't make the mistake I made – I had a chance and I was too stubborn, too caught in the moment. Twenty years and no one remembers my name. You're young, Merlin. You have talent the likes of which I have not seen in a long time. Don't  _waste your time here."_

Merlin took a deep breath, a little stunned. But who was she to know  _wastefulness_? Playing for yourself was better than playing to the world if being alone. It meant you could play whatever you fancied, however you liked. And if no one knew who you were, once you were gone, then…did it matter? What was music but living for the moment anyway? That was what Merlin did best: living, counting, trying not to think about counting  _down._

The questions wound round and round, chromatics and trailing notes making Merlin hesitate.  _London._ Something huge and exciting and unexplored. Before he'd met Arthur, Merlin would have said no. He would have gone back to live with his mother, teach at the local kindergarten and make miniature instruments out of felt and cotton. He would have played Chopin and Mozart in ways they were not supposed to be played, chopped up impromptus and whistling tunes. He would have gathered the autumn leaves in his back yard just to lie in. He would have known what he wanted.

But now…

"I'm afraid I have to say no," said Merlin.

A pause.

"If you change your mind…" said Carla.

Merlin let out a laugh, small and strained.

"I don't think I will."

"Well if you do, you have my card. We'll be in touch."

_Click._

 

:i::i:

Arthur found himself in  _Avalon,_ trying to resist bashing the shop assistant over the head with his violin case. The assistant – a girl with long curly hair and large round eyes, whose badge announced was Sophia – was hovering at Arthur's elbow as he surveyed the wall of electric violins on display. He scanned some printed pages from the Googling he had done the night before, trying to tune out her voice.

"I recommend the  _Vector Prodigy_ series," she was saying while batting her eyelashes, "They're very good, rather more natural than the  _Yamaha Silents_ , which I think a classical artist would prefer."

Arthur gave her a tight smile, but continued perusing the display. He was going to kill Merlin when he saw him next. Folding his research in half, Arthur slid the paper into his pocket and interrupted Sophia's chatter.

"Am I able to test out the instruments first?" he asked, politely.

"Oh! Of course," she said. "Which one are you looking-"

"Omega," said Arthur, pointing. "Four strings."

Nodding, she unlocked the display case with a ring of keys and lifted the electric violin from its cradle. She handed it to Arthur.

"I'll just fetch you a bow, shall I, Mr. Pendragon?"

"No," said Arthur, "I've brought my own."

"Well, I'll just hook you up to an amp," she said. "This way please."

Arthur followed her through the shop, ignoring the curious looks some of the patrons were shooting in their direction. A student actually did a double take, and Arthur saw him rushing back to his companions. One of the girls stood on tip toe to look over her friend's shoulder, and Arthur was glad when Sophia led them into the back of the store. She unravelled a brand new lead, set up the amplifier, and then handed the violin back to Arthur.

There was an awkward moment when she simply stood there, blinking expectantly, until Arthur cleared his throat.

"I'll just be in the shop – call if you need  _anything,"_ she said.

"I will," lied Arthur.

Sophia disappeared around the corner, and he unzipped his violin case. His bow felt familiar in his hands, the wood fitting perfectly in the groove it had made in Arthur's thumb. He ought to get a different bow for this instrument, but on such short notice, Arthur didn't want to have to adjust to a new bow as well as a new violin.

The empty space between the neck of the violin and its hip was  _strange._ It was like part of his own body was missing, and Arthur played a few scales up and down just to get used to the feeling. The sound was… nothing like the traditional violin. It was so jarring that Arthur fought the urge to drop the violin then and there. Instead he turned down the amplifier volume and started running through snippets of his repertoire.

The things he did for Merlin.  _Honestly._ Uther would have a heart attack.

Electric Beethoven made Arthur's head hurt, so he played Vivaldi's winter instead. The grittiness of the tone was oddly exhilarating. It was loud and smooth in a way his own violin would not have been. He could see why Will might prefer an instrument like this – loud, crass, but with more expression with every press of the finger. The notes would be bounced forwards and backwards between the soundboard and microphones. It wasn't what he was used to, but he  _could_ get used to it, if he were forced. But Arthur could never live on only the electric violin.

He wondered what it would have been like, if he had been brought up playing alternative rock and listening to modern artists. If he hadn't been nursed on classical Mozart, the albums of Rubenstein and violin concertos that were too big for his hand. He couldn't imagine himself there at all.

Switching to Rachmaninov, Arthur tested the strings, the way the different depth of the strings dug into the pads of his fingers as the chromatics ran up and down the fingerboard. He imagined the sound of it, amplified across an open sky, soaked in by thread-bare grass and a wooden stage.

Arthur put the violin down.

Ten minutes later, he was walking out of the store, carrying an extra violin case.

 

:i::i:

_15 years ago._

 

Will started learning the violin a year after Merlin began piano lessons. Unlike Merlin, Will's teacher made him practice scales, arpeggios and etudes for an entire year before allowing him to play any pieces. It drove Will absolutely nuts – and it was probably this early trauma that had give Will such an instinctive hate for anything remotely resembling Mozart.

"Jazz," he said one summer afternoon. They were lounging in the shade of a large willow, which overlooked a small river that gurgled, shallow and glittering in the sunlight. "I think I'll become a jazz violinist."

Merlin, who was busy drawing a keyboard in the sand with his finger, didn't answer immediately. Will threw a large rock into the water, to get his attention. It made a loud _splash,_ and Merlin spluttered, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

"Will!"

"What do you think?" said Will as if nothing had happened.

"You still have to do your scales in jazz," said Merlin, turning back to the sand and carefully digging sand out to make a black key, "so maybe not."

"Oh," said Will.

A duck paddled by. It began swimming towards Merlin, hopeful for stray bits of toast, but swerved back into the middle of the river again at the last minute. It probably spotted Will and recognised him for the duck-terroriser that he was, full of all the energy an eight-year-old could contain.

"What about rock music then?" asked Will when the duck was out of sight. "With drums and guitars and stuff."

Merlin thought about it for a while.

"You'll need one of those electric ones," he said, "or people won't hear you over the drums."

"Yeah," Will agreed.

Merlin drew five whole keys before Will spoke again.

"What if Ms. Lara never lets me play proper pieces though?"

Merlin dipped his dirty hands in the water, washing them clear of sand before wiping his palms on his t-shirt. Then he scooted backwards to sit with Will, who had his shoes and socks off and feet submerged in the sand.

"She will," said Merlin, nudging Will with his elbow.

"But what if I'm rubbish?" asked Will, eyes fixed on a pebble by his toe. He leaned forwards to pick the pebble up, throwing it into the middle of the river. It sank with a neat plop, the pluck of a string on a cello or a piano key picked at random.

"Will," said Merlin, earnestly, "you will be the best violin player in the  _world."_

Will shot Merlin a side long look, doubt etched on his young face. Merlin only smiled back – it was more of a grin. Grins were like major keys, it filled people up with a happiness they couldn't' explain. Merlin liked smiling.

"You can be my page turner," said Will, "when I'm famous."

Merlin laughed and promptly pushed him over.

 

:i::i:

"It looks so  _beautiful,"_ said Merlin for the umpteenth time. "Can you play that again?"

Arthur turned off the amp with a deliberate click and went to pull the plug out of its socket.

"Merlin," he said with mock indignation, "my studio has never been exposed to such atrocities. I think half an hour has been enough."

Merlin sighed, pouting. But he still had that wide-eyed, amazed look that Arthur had grown to cherish. It was something genuine, and it never ceased to make Arthur feel warm inside. An hour ago, they had eaten dinner, coke-soaked chicken wings because Merlin had brought in a recipe and  _begged._ Arthur didn't even have cocoa-cola in his refrigerator, and he'd had to make a run to the nearest corner shop (four corners and a twenty-minute walk away). When he came back, they realised the chicken had to be marinated in the coke for at least twelve hours, and Arthur had shouted at Merlin for a bit for wasting time and not reading instructions. In the end, they had baked the chicken in coke instead.

It tasted surprisingly good.

Merlin was doing strange things to his soul.

"Alright, but I have something to show you," said Merlin, snapping Arthur out of his reverie. He slid the violin in its velvet-lined case and shut the lid with a click.

"Go on then," said Arthur, waving a hand.

"It's downstairs," said Merlin, jumping up from where he had been perched on his piano stool. "Come on!"

"Isn't it past your bed time?" asked Arthur mildly. "You look like you could do with a few hours sleep."

Merlin was already half way down the stairs.

"Hurry up, prat!"

Arthur sighed, smiling to himself as he made his way down stairs. When he rounded the corner, all he could see was Merlin's arse as he rifled noisily through his bag.

"…What are you doing?"

"You can't look!" said Merlin, "Go sit over there." He pointed at the window seat, which was furtherest away from the couch. Arthur paused on the threshold, giving Merlin a wary look.

"Is this 'surprise' going to cause a mess? Do I need to get the vacuum cleaner ready? I swear, if you get coloured beads all over the carpet again…"

"It was that  _once,_ " said Merlin, rolling his eyes. "But you can wear your apron if you like."

"Idiot," said Arthur, shaking his head. He made his way obliging to the window seat. It was dark outside, save for the sheet of city lights stretching out below. It was a small curve, like a smile, framed by the black that was the sea and starless sky. For the most part, Arthur could just see the reflection of his own living room, Merlin's skinny arse bent over the couch as he tried to his whatever was in his bag out of sight. Arthur sat down, stretched his legs out in front of him.

"Alright, I'm here. Now what?"

"Close your eyes," said Merlin.

"Honestly, I really don't think-"

"Arthur!"

"Fine."

Arthur closed his eyes.

There was the sound of feet padding on carpet, then the sound of Merlin sitting down or doing  _something._ A soft  _clink_ that reminded Arthur of china on china. When Merlin spoke, his voice was closer than Arthur expected, he reflexively tried to open his eyes. A hand clapped over his face.

"Don't! It won't work if you look."

Arthur sat very still in his seat. The palm was warm against his eyelids, theskin surprisingly soft. He could smell the scent of polish he used to clean his piano keys, on Merlin's fingertips.

"I can't breathe," he said.

"Oh! Sorry," said Merlin, taking his hand away. Arthur almost followed him, the warmth leaving his face chilled.

"You have to just listen now, okay?" said Merlin, voice even and soothing, like his hands. "Nod or shake your head."

"You're an idiot," said Arthur.

Merlin poked him hard in the leg, " _Shhh!_ "

" _Sorry_ ," said Arthur, rolling his eyes even though Merlin couldn't see them.

The silence ticked by, becoming blurred as time stretched on, indistinct. Arthur stopped counting after a while, and only sat there in the stillness of his living room. When Merlin spoke again, Arthur could almost feel his breaths, warm puffs. His voice was even quieter than before, soft footfalls.

"Take ten deep breaths," said Merlin, "Count to ten, one for each inhale."

Arthur did as he was told, taking a deep breath through his nose. They felt like semi-breves, filling him up like the feeling of content.

"The sky is blue," said Merlin. "It's not quite winter."

Arthur was about to open his eyes again, but the feeling of Merlin's hand on his knee stopped him.

"The sky is blue, the sea is blue but the clouds are grey and white."

Arthur breathed, the world narrowing down to where Merlin's hand rested on his knee.

"The sky is blue."

He could feel that warmth again, seeping through the thin material of his trousers. It was oddly comforting, that touch.

"The sky is blue," said Merlin again, voice gentle. "It's blue and not quite winter. The sea is blue, but the clouds are grey and white."

 _Breathe in_.

"The sky is blue, the sea is white, and the clouds are blue."

_Breathe out._

"The sky is blue," whispered Merlin. "It's so blue it's nearly winter."

His hand was still there. And even though somewhere, Arthur knew it was night and there were no stars, he could see the blue sky out; framed in white by his studio. He didn't know what Merlin was doing, but his voice was like a soothing caress, steady and constant like waves.  _Blue, blue, blue, Arthur._

"…and fly," Merlin was saying, "In the sea that is blue."

Everything thing was so still, Arthur thought time had stopped. He thought he might have fallen asleep in the stillness, in the steady breaths they shared, the warm of Merlin close enough to touch but not quite close enough. It was there in the blue of the sky, never ending, arched like a perfect phrase;  _boundless_. Arthur thought this was what blue sounded like, the vowels round and full between Merlin's lips,  _the sky is blue, Arthur,_ blank and beautiful like a sheet.

Stillness was like a breath suspended.

And then, without any recollection of having opened his eyes, Arthur's vision was filled with Merlin's face. His eyes were very wide, framed with dark lashes, like  _sostenuto_  lines over a crochet. They were  _blue_. His lips were slightly parted, as if the stillness had shocked him too, taken him in an unexpected embrace that still lingered in the red of his lips and the half-formed words by Arthur's ear.

"…Arthur?"

Arthur forced himself not to blink.

Merlin leaned in; worry flickered through his eyes. On of his hands shifted on Arthur's knee, and the other one came up tentatively to touch Arthur's face. Arthur was holding his breath, still as a statue. He counted slowly to three, gaze unwavering even as Merlin leaned in even closer. A finger poked his cheek.

"Ar-"

Arthur leapt forwards and tackled Merlin to the floor with a shout of "Hah!"

Merlin screamed.

"You prat!" he screeched, as they wrestled for the upper hand. " _ARSE_!"

"You're the one who made me sit there for twenty minutes of  _hypnosis,_ " said Arthur, pinning Merlin's skinny arms with both hands. Merlin glared at him and twisted like an eel, so they knocked into the coffee table. Arthur had to quickly grab hold of it to stop it from toppling over. Merlin used the opportunity to tackle him back onto the floor.

"You gave me an heart attack!" he shouted.

Arthur slung one arm around Merlin's neck so that he was trapped beneath the arm, against Arthur's chest. Merlin was huffing with the exertion, proving just how unfit he was. Arthur smirked, bringing up his free hand to give Merlin the noogie to end all noogies. He rubbed hard with the fist, messing up Merlin's already tousled hair.

"Ow. OW!" Merlin cried, wriggling frantically.

"How does this feel?" asked Arthur.

"Uncle.  _UNCLE!"_ said Merlin, and Arthur let him go with a final rub. Merlin coughed a few times, and Arthur had to stop and give him a few hard thumps on the back. When the coughs subsided, Merlin glared at him, looking for the entire world like a disgruntled kitten who had just been given a bath (which was a fairly accurate analogy when it came to Merlin, actually).

"I hate you," he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Was only trying to help."

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, the grin on his face slowly fading away.

"What were you  _doing_ exactly?"

Merlin blushed, his cheeks going pink.

"Trying to…your flight thing. I thought maybe if- well, obviously it didn't work."

Arthur snorted.

"Merlin, my Father has put me through therapist after therapist since I was eight. If it hasn't worked by now… I doubt your amateur hypnosis is going to cure me."

"It's not a cure!" said Merlin immediately. "You can't help not wanting to fly! I just wanted to…I don't know…" Merlin trailed off, the blush depending into a dark pink, extending to his ears. Arthur shrugged, feeling oddly… touched.

"I appreciate the effort," he said, pushing himself off the floor. "You taught me many things."

Merlin looked up.

"The sky is blue.  _Honestly,_ Merlin."

"I thought it was working!"

"You put me to sleep, not into a state of hypnosis," said Arthur, flicking on the kitchen lights. "And, on the subject of sleep, it's getting late. You should just stay the night."

It wasn't really that late – just barely nine, but Merlin looked like he'd find it challenging to get getting off the floor.

"Didn't it help? Not even a little bit?" he asked. hopefully.

Arthur paused, one hand on the door of the refrigerator.

"I feel a lot more…relaxed," he offered, which was true. "Hot chocolate?"

"Mmm," said Merlin. "'Kay."

"We've left the Plushies upstairs, by the way," said Arthur as he poured milk to warm. Opening the cupboard, he pulled out a jar of cocoa powder. It was half empty, since Arthur had been taking to making Merlin hot chocolate every time he crashed on the couch – which was a few times a week. He measured out a spoonful of cocoa as Merlin clamoured onto the breakfast stool.

He gave an enormous yawn.

The microwave chimed, announcing that the milk was heated. Arthur took the mugs and set them out on the bench. Merlin was giving him a long, steady look, which Arthur ignored in favour of spooning cocoa in exact measurements.

 

:i::i:

It wasn't until later, _later,_ that Arthur realised what Merlin's presence in Sydney meant.

Despite what he knew he should say, what he should do, Arthur couldn't ignore the part of him that dreaded the thought of Merlin leaving. As a friend, he should have tried harder to get Merlin to say yes, to persuade Merlin that he could be more than an accompanist working at a restaurant for minimum wage, that he was wasting his talent. Arthur should talk to him, persuade him to take the contract and fly to London, even the though the very thought made his insides clench with fear.

He couldn't imagine  _not_ having Merlin's company anymore, and because Arthur was selfish, he said nothing at all.

:i::i:

 

The atmosphere at the stadium-cum-theatre was not at all the same to a concert hall. It was ten in the morning, and the sun was already high. It cast puddles of shadows across the wide expanse of lawn/grass? where the seats were to be set up. There were people bustling everywhere. Most were dressed in uniform black that signified the sound and stage crew. There was a man driving a miniature fork-lift at the side of the stage, unloading what looked like speakers.

The stage was slightly concave in shape with an arched ceiling that fell away to open sky in a myriad of Perspex and criss-crossing aluminium beams. It was a flat-floor stage and at one side, a moving ladder was currently in place, the lights being set up for the evening. There was a drum kit already on stage, along with several electric pianos and… was that an ukulele?

Arthur stopped before they reached the stage, hesitating. He surveyed the scene in front of him. For the first time in a musical setting, he did not feel absolutely sure of himself. Everyone looked the same – where on earth was the manager?

"Gwen!" yelled Merlin, nearly blasting Arthur's ears off. He began frantically waving at someone Arthur couldn't see – but a moment later, Gwen appeared and jogged towards them. She wasn't wearing black, but had a tag swinging from a lanyard around her neck.

"Hey!" she said when she reached them. She and Merlin exchanged a quick hug before Gwen turned to Arthur.

"Mr. Pendragon?"

Arthur offered a hand, and she shook it.

"Call me Arthur," he said smiling. Gwen rewarded him with a beaming smile – something she apparently had in common with Merlin, in addition to the tendency to engage in affectionate hugging.

"They've nearly finished setting up," she said, leading them towards the stage where Arthur could see a cluster of people with instrument cases loitering about. "Your check is scheduled last, but I can go tell them to move it up if you need to be somewhere…?"

"No," said Arthur. "I can wait. Is there anywhere for me to…unpack?"

Gwen looked a little flustered.

"I think everyone else brought trailers," said Merlin, helpfully, pointing at a few white ones parked against the fenced off area to the stage's left. "But I don't suppose you have a trailer, do you, Arthur?"

Arthur rolled his eyes.

Merlin hefted the violin case more securely onto his shoulder.

"Well, can you just unpack  _here_?"

Arthur felt a little scandalised by the notion.

"I'm not leaving an instrument out here!" he said. "What if it rains?"

"Then we put it back in the case," said Merlin. "Either way can I put the bloody thing down already."

"Stop being a whimp."

"Then you carry it!"

"Merlin – have you forgotten that I'm here because you  _begged me-"_

"I did  _not_  beg!"

"- _grovelled_ , even, for me to play trash for a good cause. I think exercising your arm muscles is hardly too much to ask."

Merlin glared at Arthur, eyes narrowed. It didn't help that Arthur could see the Plushies' arms (or legs) sticking out of the pocket of Merlin's messenger bag. By now, they had reached the front row of seats; red plastic affairs with the cancer foundation's sticker attached to the back of each one. Merlin dumped the case unceremoniously onto a chair.

"There, you prat."

Arthur sighed, taking the case and hefting it over his own shoulder. Gwen looked from Merlin to Arthur then back again.

"There's the room the sound guys are using – you could…?"

"That sounds fine," said Arthur.

Gwen nodded several times, eyes wide.

"I'll just pop over and ask. Be back in two seconds!"

"Wait, you don't-" Merlin began, but Gwen was already tearing off around the side of the stage, her curly hair flying behind her. Arthur stared after her, amusement curling at the edge of his mouth.

"I like her," he announced. "You have good taste in friends."

"You only like Gwen because you can bully her," said Merlin, sounding a little irritated.

"I beg your pardon," said Arthur, both eyebrows raised. "I'll have you know that I do not bully-"

Someone tapped Arthur on the shoulder, and he turned around, breaking off mid-sentence.

The boy can't have been older than sixteen. He looked even younger than Merlin. Like Merlin, he had black hair though it was straight and swept back in a way that half of it constantly fell into his eyes. He was giving Arthur a rather disturbing stare, his mouth fixed in an expression that was at once both a smile and grimace. Arthur resisted the urge to be contemptuous. This was probably someone who could only read music in guitar chords and who relied on numbers to remember his notes.

"Yes?" said Arthur.

"Are you Pendragon?"

"Yes," replied Arthur.

"The  _violinist_?" said Nameless Emo Boy. He made the word "violinist" sound like "homeless loser".

"Yes, again," said Arthur, "My goodness you're clever, aren't you?"

Nameless Emo Boy's mouth turned down into a sneer.

"How much did the organisers pay for you to be here? Half? Seventy? This is a fucking charity concert; you're taking money away from people who actually need-"

"He's playing for free, actually," said Merlin. He sounded distinctly annoyed. "And he is twice the musician you are, so you can just go away before I stab you with… with my pen!"

Arthur was just about tell Merlin to shut up because he didn't need him fighting Arthur's battles – not that this was a battle – but Nameless Emo Boy had turned his unwavering gaze to Merlin instead. Then recognition flickered in his eyes.

"Merlin Emrys," he said, slowly, "Pendragon's new accompanist." He glanced at Arthur, "You certainly cycle through them fast." Arthur could see Nameless Emo's groupie looking their way, curious but not particularly hostile. Arthur had never dealt with someone like this before, apart from the time a girl had somehow gotten past the security and burst into his dressing room during interval and starting screaming about  _true love_ and  _omigod_ and  _will you marry me?_ Other than her, everyone was far too professional and polite to be so outrageously blunt. Critics weren't human, therefore they didn't count.

"You could do a lot better than Pendragon," said Nameless Emo Boy, smirking. "He doesn't even remember me. Do you,  _Arthur_?

Merlin looked like he was going to pop a blood vessel, cheeks flushed, and Arthur could feel him vibrating next to him with indignation. At Nameless Emo's last comment, he frowned in confusion.

"What do you-"

"They say it's alright!" said Gwen, suddenly appearing next to Merlin. "They've cleared out a space for you, and all your stuff should be secure back there. By the way," she said, nodding towards the stranger, "They're ready for your soundcheck in five, Mordred."

The boy – Mordred - inclined his head. He gave both Arthur and Merlin a last, lingering look before making his way back towards what Arthur assumed was his band. Turning deliberately away, Arthur followed Merlin and Gwen, past the wings of the stage and around the back. He tried to tamp down on the unfamiliar feeling of unease and hoped that the reception of his performance would be slightly less hostile.

 

:i::i:

On hindsight, Merlin learned many things. He learnt that the future made things clear. The present made you blind.

Merlin would wonder how he had not seen any of it coming.

:i::i:

 

When Merlin got back to the conservatoire for his master-class at three thirty, it took him almost twenty minutes to find Will.

"Will!  _Will!"_

Will spun around. He stopped abruptly in the middle of the corridor in high-traffic hour meant that people had to suddenly swerve around him, glaring as they did so. Merlin let go of Will's sleeve.

"What's the rush?" he asked, grinning. "Are you late for Geoffrey?"

Will gave him a withering look, then turned and resumed walking. Confused, Merlin grabbed for his sleeve again. He felt a little out of breath, having half-run down the corridor to catch up with a obviously deaf best friend. This time, however, Will just wrenched his arm away and walked even faster.

"Wait. What-"

"I don't have Geoffrey on Thursday afternoons," said Will tersely, not even turning around. If he was walking any faster, he would be running. Merlin struggled to keep up, dodging past a cellist and his case.

"Oh," said Merlin, "I forgot. Been kinda busy all morning-"

"Whatever, Merlin."

They had arrived at the stairs, and Will took them three at a time, the bastard. Merlin ran after him, one hand on the banisters, already feeling the tell-tell band around his chest tighten with every step. But he dashed on, finally catching up to Will on the landing and this time he grabbed for Will's shoulder and held on, even when Will tried to twist away.

" _Wait –_ what is wrong with you?"

At this, Will did turn around, and there was such an ugly expression on his face that Merlin was shocked into silence.

"What is wrong with  _me_? What the fuck is wrong with  _you?_ "

Merlin withdrew his hand as if he had been burned. Confused, he shook his head as if to clear it.

"What? Is it because I forgot your schedule?" he asked. "You know I'm never good at remembering-"

"Yeah, you  _are,_ " said Will. _"_ You just don't care enough about most things to  _remember_ them, that's all."

Then he was moving away, darting back up the stairs, and damn it, if Merlin wasn't going to sort this out  _right now._ Ignoring the painful constriction that accompanied each breath, Merlin stumbled up the staircase, his bag knocking into innocent passersby, and he had just managed to catch Will  _again –_ grabbing his arm and forcing them both into the nearest unlocked practice room he could find. He pushed Will inside, dodging an elbow, and shut the door behind them.

"What do you mean I don't care about you?" demanded Merlin, and he couldn't help the hurt that welled up was his  _best friend._  He had followed Merlin all the way here (Where is here? Conservatory? If so, say so), and he forced Merlin to take medication when he was past the point of reason. But the same Will, jaw clenched tight, was avoiding Merlin's eyes.

"Jesus! Fuck, Merlin, I need to get to class."

"You don't  _have_ class after three on Thursdays," said Merlin, breathing through his nose slowly, back pressed against the door. "See? I remembered."

"Yeah. Well, good for you."

Neither of them moved.

"Where were you all morning?" asked Will, after a minute of silence. "You missed Freya's recital."

"I was with Arthur at the run-through," said Merlin, perplexed. "I thought I told you."

"You talk about Pendragon all fucking day. I've learnt to just tune it out, yeah?"

Merlin raised an eyebrow.

"You- I –  _What_? Look, I'm sorry I missed Freya's concert, but this was important – I asked Arthur a favour and it wasn't like I could just abandon him to a group of boy bands and strange people with drum sticks. Right?"

Will shrugged, though the gesture was aborted. Merlin noticed his hair wasn't even in its usual spiked-glory, just a messy wave of highlights and brown. Will usually spent half an hour in the bathroom every morning.

"Whatever you say, man. Don't give a shit anymore, just let me get to class."

Merlin rubbed a hand over his face.

"Look, I really don't know why you're so angry with me. I told Freya yesterday that I couldn't make it, that Arthur had his sound-check today. I-"

"Are you listening to yourself?" shouted Will. He mimicked Merlin's voice in high falsetto. " _More important. Arthur_. Why don't you just admit your stupid crush and just  _fuck him already_!"

Will's words were like a slap to the face, and Merlin jerked backwards, only to hit the door again. He stared at Will, at the twist of his mouth and his eyes bright with malice. He had difficulty reconciling this with the usual Will. – It was too confusing. Merlin took a deep breath, and there was an answering shot of pain as his lungs expanded. He ignored it and focused on Will's face in front of him.

"Arthur and I are just friends," he said eventually. Instead of appeasing Will, it seemed to make him more angry.

"Friends," he said, voice a little hysterical. "Are you kidding me? The way you were sticking your tongue down his throat did  _not_ look like just friends."

"Stick my – Will! That was  _two months_  ago! I was drunk! I can't believe you're still angry about-"

"Two months!" agreed Will, voice louder and overriding Merlin's "Which shows how much you need to get a fucking move on, doesn't it? Or is he straight? Is that why you fan worship him because that's the next best thing? Get a bit of glory on the side, polishing his shoes and turning his pages."

Merlin shook his head, dazed. He ran a hand through his hair, and couldn't hold back a little laugh – dry and incredulous. He wave a hand, a gesture that was supposed to encompass the entire, bizarre outburst.

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," he said. "I…I don't even know. You need to get over your petty jealousy, alright? He's not a bad person. We're  _friends._ Just because he's a better violinist than you are, I-"

Will's fist collided with the side of his face.

Taken completely by surprise, Merlin's head snapped to the left with the punch, and if it wasn't for the door, he would have fallen backwards onto the ground. He launched himself back at Will, gripping him by the front of his tee-shirt. The weight of their momentum sent Will crashing back into a chair, temple clipping on the side of the table as he went down.

They struggled for a moment, neither gaining the upper hand. Merlin and Will had fought before, but it had never,  _ever_ become violent. But Merlin couldn't think right now; he could only feel the jarring pain in his cheek and the burning one in his chest. His breath rattled as he gasped and elbowed Will hard in the ribs and then staggered up right, away.

"You hit me," he said, voice barely audible. "You  _hit me_ because I said Arthur was a better-"

Will got to his feet as well. His face was flushed, and guilt shone in his eyes. There was a cut on his temple from hitting the table. But Merlin couldn't feel sorry for that. He couldn't really feel anything – he had to  _breathe._ But it hurt to do so. He wanted to sit down, to try to massage the place where it was stabbing with pain. But that would be a sign of weakness.

"I'm sorry," said Will, the words coming out in a rush. "I didn't mean to punch – Christ."

Merlin only stared back while he tried to hide the shaking of his hands. His confusion was an anaesthetic, and it dulled everything to a low buzz, made the shape of the piano blur momentarily in front of Merlin's eyes. He was suddenly aware that his bag was no longer on his shoulder… but his eyes couldn't gravitate away from Will's face to see where it was.

"…the only time Lance and I see you is here, at lunch or during class. And even then half the time you're off with Pendragon, rehearsing a million hours a week and when you're not doing that, you're just – you're just  _with him all the time_ and –" Will took a breath, visibly trying to calm himself down. "You should be concentrating on what you've – He's a waste of- " Will seemed at a loss for words. "You're practicing all hours of the night, barely awake in class and -You're just his  _stupid accompanist_! It's like that's all you want now! _"_

Merlin snorted, crossing his arms in front of him.

"I don't think this is about my music career," he said.

Silence.

Will was looking stubbornly at Merlin's shoes, his face still red, shoulders stiff with pride he couldn't let go, even now.

"This is just petty," said Merlin again, tired and quiet. "You're being-"

With a strength of will he never knew he had, Merlin looked away. He walked one step at a time, towards the door. He retrieved his bag from where it had fallen on the floor, its contents spilling out over the stiff carpet. He picked up the pencils, stuffing them back inside without order. He picked up Arthur Plushie, dusted him off and put him next to a scrunched-up scarf. Then Merlin slung the bag over his shoulder and opened the door.

"Talk to me when you've calmed down," he said.

 

:i:

 

Half past five, and Merlin was  _late._

Arthur had played the piece three times right through – anymore and his fingers would cramp and become stiff. It wouldn't do to use up his quota of error-free performances. No use playing it to perfection here, where no one could hear him. Arthur glanced at the violin in his open case, and then turned deliberately away.

He had everything ready since five. He had been dressed since five past five. Merlin was _latelatelate._

He did what he always did when stressed (aside from not admitting the fact) and went downstairs to his kitchen. It was far too late to begin cooking anything; there wasn't enough time to prepare the ingredients. Instead, Arthur decided to make a smoothie in the blender. Vitamins was good for the soul and general performance headspace; he had never found the myth about bananas to be true.

Opening his refrigerator, Arthur preoccupied himself for a few minutes by deciding what he was going to throw into the blender. In the end, he decided on strawberries, a handful of blueberries and mango juice as base. He was washing the fruit in the sink when the doorbell rang. Then it rang again, chiming and musical.

Arthur turned off the tap with an irritated sigh, wiping his hands on the tea-towel hanging by the oven before crossing into the hallway and unlocking the door. Merlin tumbled inside in a flurry of limbs, scarves and a few stray leaves, which were stuck on his shoe.

"Sorry!" he said, "I missed the bus."

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Take those shoes off," he said, turning back into the kitchen. "I'm making smoothies. Want some?"

"Yes, please," said Merlin, and Arthur heard the  _thunk_ of shoes being toed off feet

Arthur retrieved the fruit from the sink, drained out the water and started putting the strawberries into the jar of the blender. Strawberries always went first, then the blue berries, then the liquid. Arthur measured out three cupfuls of mango juice. Then he pressed the lid on firmly and started the blender; it whirred to life, loud and mechanical.

Arthur turned around.

"So what took you so-" he stopped, staring. There was a blue-purple bruise on Merlin's cheekbone. "How did you get that?"

Merlin looked shifty, and Arthur noticed he was twisting the end of his scarf around his hands, over, under, over, under. There was a moment's pause, in which Arthur's brain played out an entire series of bad scenarios.

"Were you mugged?" he blurted out, starting around the breakfast bench. He stopped when Merlin took an instinctive step back, eyes guarded and wary.

"No," said Merlin, and he laughed a little. It sounded forced. "I had a fight with Will."

Arthur frowned in surprise. The thought that someone, anyone, had laid a hand on Merlin made Arthur see red. The fact that it had been  _Will_ and not some stranger threw Arthur off course.

"What-"

Merlin held up a hand.

"Please don't ask?" he said, sounding exhausted. "To be honest, I don't really know myself."

"Alright," said Arthur, "I'm not going to pry."

The blender came to a stop, filling the kitchen with sudden and overwhelming silence. Arthur couldn't look away from the bruise on Merlin's face. It was livid and stark and made Arthur want to press for details, to do  _something,_ instead of just standing there _._  But he never knew how to confront things like this, things that were delicate and hurt.

Arthur opened the freezer.

"You'll need ice on that," he said, "You should have ice on it already, or it'll be magnificent in the morning."

"I don't need anything-" protested Merlin, but Arthur dumped a few ice cubes onto the tea towel. Then he wrapped them up and pushed the lot into Merlin's hand.

"Press that to it," he commanded. "Come on."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "I did give Will a three inch cut, you know," he said. "It's bleeding and everything."

"I'm sure it's very impressive," said Arthur, taking two glasses out of the cabinet and pouring the smoothie. "When I meet him I'll give him a shiner to match. Here, drink up."

Merlin took the glass one-handed, bringing it to his lips. Arthur watched as he took a gulp, then smiled at the content that spread across Merlin's features.

"I like strawberries," he said and licked a stray bead of juice on the side of the glass. He eyed the remaining smoothie in the jar speculatively, even though his glass was still half-full. His eyes darted to Arthur… then widened.

" _What are you wearing?_ " said Merlin, jumping off his seat. "Arthur!"

Arthur looked down at his clothes. – He'd put on his usual suit, minus the tie. He had decided the tie looked too formal.

"What's wrong with it?" he asked, defensively. "I think I'm-"

"No! No.  _Nononono_ ," said Merlin draining his glass in one huge gulp and slamming it onto the table. Then he grabbed Arthur by the arm and began dragging him in the direction of his bedroom. Switching on the light, he dragged Arthur inside.

"Get changed," he said. "Where's your wardrobe?"

Arthur crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Merlin, we have barely  _five minutes-"_

"Then you better get changed fast!" said Merlin, looking a little manic. He waved his ice-pack about, and Arthur experienced another gut-wrenching tug at the sight of the bruise. "Jeans! Where are your jeans?"

"I am  _not_  wearing jeans on stage-"

"Then you can go naked!" exclaimed Merlin. "But you're not going in those!"

He wrenched open the wardrobe and started rifling through the contents in a way that warned Arthur if he didn't intervene very soon, his entire clothing categorisation system would be ruined. Arthur intervened.

"The jeans are here! They're- Jesus, okay. Okay! I'll wear jeans," Arthur pulled out the newest looking one, "Then what?"

"Where are your shirts?" asked Merlin, fingers twitching dangerously.

"These?" asked Arthur, pointing.

"No! T-shirts!"

Arthur glared at him, feeling his dignity bristle.

"I refuse to wear-"

Merlin whacked him with his ice-pack.

"Ow!"

"You Prat! Do you want to look like a Prat?"

"I'm not wearing plebeian clothing on stage!"

"You'll look like an arse!"

"Fine, then I won't play!"

"Fine!"

" _Fine!_ "

"FINE."

 

:i::i:

"You look nice," said Merlin.

Arthur concentrated on the road.

"I look like an idiot," he said through gritted teeth.

Merlin shifted in the passenger seat, clutching a new ice-pack Arthur had forced on him. Which was just as well considering what  _Merlin_  had managed to force Arthur to wear.

"Stop being so fussy. Is it because you're nervous? It's alright to be nervous."

Arthur took a right turn a little harder than necessary. There was no music on the CD player. Arthur absolutely forbid the listening of music just before a concert or recital. It would wipe the brain of all its contents and ruin everything.

"Are you nervous?"

He could hear Merlin's smile. He knew, without looking, that it would be one of those satisfied, cat-with-cream smiles, lips curling at the edges, hinting at dimples -

"Merlin,  _shut up._ "

 

:i::i:

In the end, Arthur locked himself in the back of the sound-room, amidst spare microphone stands and sub-woofers while the concert raged on outside in full force. Merlin spent the evening helping Gwen and dashing back to check on Arthur, who grew more and more irritated as the night wore on.

The third time Merlin came bursting into the stuffy little room, Arthur was pacing in the little floor-space available, expression grim and determined.

"I brought you some coffee," said Merlin, holding up a Styrofoam cup. "Some guy gave it to me but I thought you might want it."

Arthur waved a terse hand, not even pausing in his strides.

"No. Thank you."

Merlin set the cup down on the nearest flat surface – an intimidating looking amplifier. Then he sat down on the box next to it, the better to watch Arthur pace. The fluorescent light above their heads flickered for a moment with a dull buzz and hum that were probably not helping Arthur in the slightest.

"Are you sure you don't want-"

"Merlin," said Arthur, voice deceptively calm, "please go away."

Merlin sighed, raising both hands in defeat.

"Okay. I'll be back…later."

Merlin succeeded, for the most part, in not thinking about Will. He was less successful in leaving Arthur to his pacing ritual, drawn back to his presence like moth to a light. It probably also had something to do with the fact that Arthur's room was much warmer than it was outside.

He managed to stay away for twenty minutes, running a note from the lighting guys to the sound desk about some wire that had broken during the third to last performance because the guitarist had yanked when he should have twisted. Or something. But the point was, the chilly night air and the hot back-stage smoke were making Merlin's head spin. He felt all the low notes that were played thrum through his body, making feel like he was on the verge of coughing. It was the strangest sensation.

"The turnout is amazing!" Gwen shouted over the screaming. "Right?"

"It's very loud!" Merlin agreed, wincing when the performer – what was his name again?- spoke into the microphone, and his voice was so loud there was a moment of feedback, high-pitched and painful.

"Can you go tell Arthur he's on soon? Get him backstage in five minutes!"

Merlin nodded, voice and lungs too tired for any more shouting, and he made his way along the fringe of the audience, where it was shadowed and out of sight. People were riveted to the stage and the two huge screens that had been set up above it, showing the musicians on camera. They didn't even notice as Merlin slipped around the side of the fence marked "staff only" – the nearest girl was jumping up and down in excitement.

Arthur wasn't jumping up and down. He was still pacing.

"Uh…" said Merlin, tentatively. "Are you alright?"

Arthur actually paused this time, giving Merlin an annoyed glared.

"What happened to knocking?" he demanded.

Merlin shrugged.

"I can't be bothered. By the way, you're needed backstage in five."

Arthur nodded, with the air of someone who was about to go to war. Merlin couldn't suppress his smile as he watched Arthur carefully unravel the cloth around the electric violin. He took it in one hand and his bow in the other. Merlin handed him his shoulder rest, holding it out helpfully.

He caught Arthur's grateful look, a flash of something warm and a little nervous. Merlin stuck his hands beneath his armpits so he wouldn't be tempted to hug him, which would probably set off Arthur's neuroses again.

"Alright," said Arthur at last, "let's do this."

Merlin gave him the biggest grin he could muster, wincing when his bruise twinged. Arthur's gaze snapped back to Merlin's face.

"Where's your ice pack?" he asked, reaching out with one hand before remembering he was still holding his bow. He stopped, before poking Merlin's eye out.

"It melted," said Merlin, shrugging. "I might have eaten an ice cube, or two."

Arthur made an irritated sound, a strange mix of  _tsk_ and a growl.

"You need to keep that under ice, you moron," he said, pushing past Merlin and out the door. Merlin turned and followed him, all the way to the back of the stage and up the make-shift stairs. A woman with a microphone taped to her lapel ushered Arthur into the wings, saying something Merlin couldn't hear. Arthur half-turned. He gave Merlin a small nod, a raise of the eyebrows.

And suddenly, Merlin found himself standing alone at the edge of the wings.

 

:i::i:

By the time Merlin managed to wind his way near the front of the stage, the band was already taking its last bows. The enthusiastic cheering and screaming allowed Merlin to elbow his way until he was in sight of the stage. If he craned his neck back, he could see the screens, bright and a little pixellated from this distance. It showed an empty stage now, smoke curling about the edges, lights bright. Merlin could imagine the heat of them on the skin, their colours staining the stage floor in bright neon.

The heat of the crowd was suffocating, but Merlin ignored it, taking deep breaths through his nose.

The M.C.'s voice reverberated through the speakers, a blur to Merlin's ears – something about "Arthur" and "Finale" pronounced in an over exaggerated fashion and "Amazing" – and then all the lights went out. Several people in the audience "oooh'ed" and "aaaaah'ed". Someone whistled, the sound soaring and disappearing into the night sky. Merlin looked around for a chair to stand on, but all available seats were already occupied.

/ EMBED BUMBLEBEE VIOLIN

The first note of the violin struck home, sharp and sudden. All the lights flared on. And there he was, centre stage, the black shape of the electric violin contrasting with the gold of his hair. It wasn't like anything Merlin had ever felt or seen. He had heard Arthur play this piece before of course, heard it played by a dozen musicians but never  _quite like this._ Even through the speakers, the notes were precise and clear in a way that was so Arthur it made Merlin's heart swell. He was riveted, like everyone else, the notes vibrating all the way from his toes to his finger tips.

Arthur was magnificent, a straight-backed figure in the middle of the stage. He was the only stillness amidst the music, which threatened to rip the very air apart, note after note pouring out in an seemingly endless stream. There were a crowd of girls in front of Merlin who looked like they were going to faint from sheer awe. But he wondered if this had more to do with Arthur's very fitted jeans rather than his musical poweress. Merlin's throat felt a little dry from all the smoke.

Merlin heard someone beside him say, "Holy shit!" as the notes spun and turned, faster and faster, gaining momentum. The camera zoomed in on Arthur's left hand, the fingers moving so fast they were literally a blur, and then Arthur's face – his signature frown as he concentrated, eyes fixed on his violin.

Then, so small Merlin almost missed it, Arthur's lip quirked upwards.

The piece took a minute and a half to play.

It felt like barely a second.

The volume of the screaming took Merlin by surprise, so much so he was nearly trampled when the crowd around him surged forwards. Exclamations of "Fucking hell!" and other general swearing could be heard. "Jesus," Merlin heard a girl shout, "that was insane!" People kept screaming; – There was some clapping involved, but Merlin thought he was about to go  _deaf._ He caught a glimpse of Arthur's face on the screen, looking a little taken a back at the girls who were attempting to vault onto the stage. The sheer  _energy_ of the atmosphere was amazing and a little scary as Merlin was pushed aside.

"Fuck!" someone shouted, elbowing Merlin. He turned around and was confronted by a stranger, who looked half-drunk and very impressed. "THAT WAS BLOODY AWESOME, WASN'T IT?"

Merlin was grinning so hard that his face felt like it was going to split in two. The stranger had turned away already, shouting about something else, and Merlin was quickly swallowed by the crowd. Arthur bowed, stiff and formal, and there was the rare expression of surprise on his face that made Merlin laugh out loud. He stepped back from the edge of the stage, gave his audience a single nod, and strode off.

The crowd's screaming rose in volume.

"Yeah," said Merlin, watching Arthur disappear into the wings. He smiled to himself, feeling like his heart had been plucked out, soaring with the sound of Arthur's success. "Yeah, it was."

:i:


	10. TEN

:i:

" _ **When people hear good music, it makes them homesick for something they never had,**_

_**And never will have."** _

\- Edgar Watson

:i:

Arthur found Merlin waiting for him at the back of the stage, and the happiness in his face was brighter than the stage lights that were in Arthur's eyes. It blinded him.

"It was amazing!" he shouted, throwing his arms around Arthur, who had to quickly hold his violin out of reach before it got crushed. "You were  _absolutely amazing!"_

Arthur was breathless. He could feel his face, hot and a little flushed from the performance, his heart thumping a million beats a second between them. And if this was what playing on an electric violin felt, this - reckless exhilaration - Arthur wasn't sure if he ever wanted to stop.

"I was, wasn't I?" he said, pushing Merlin in the direction of the storage room..

Merlin gave him a playful shove in the shoulder. "Security had to keep people from jumping onto the stage and molesting you right there and then," he said, and Arthur shot him a horrified look. He hadn't quite expected such an enthusiastic reaction from his audience, and he'd left the stage before that girl in the front row actually managed to climb over the safety rail. It was nothing like the concerts he had played in before.  _No one_ screamed that loudly in the Royal Theatre.

"Didn't I say it would be amazing?" Merlin was saying. He looked so pleased with himself that Arthur couldn't help laughing. "You loved it. You actually  _smiled,_ I saw you!"

"Yes, yes, we've established that I was utterly astounding," teased Arthur, zipping up his violin case and slipping the shoulder-rest into its pocket. He wiped his face with a white cloth, and Merlin produced a drink bottle out of nowhere. Arthur took it gratefully, uncapping it and draining the entire bottle in one go.

"You loved it," said Merlin again, eyes bright. "I've never seen you enjoy yourself so much. Didn't you love it?"

Arthur set the bottle down on an amplifier. Even with the door close, you could still hear the noise of the audience, raucous and loud.

"Yes," Arthur said, trying for nonchalance, "I…loved it."

"I told you so," said Merlin. "Didn't say I would say I told you so? I'm saying it again – god, I think you've broken my brain."

Arthur paused.

"Merlin," he said, "I believe this calls for a celebration."

 

:i:

Merlin learned two very important things in the space of an hour:

First, Arthur's definition of celebration consisted primarily of one thing.

Second, that thing was alcohol.

 

:i:

Some said that thinking about the inevitable was pointless.

But that really depended on whether you believed that some things were inevitable… in fate, destiny and pre-determined events. The inevitable meant that there were things you could not control. In always stepping in the wrong direction because there _was_  no right path to take.

One thing that was inevitable: Arthur simply could not hold his liquor, and neither could Merlin. It should have warned them.

The whisky Arthur had insisted upon having made Merlin feel bubbly and breathless all at once, making him gasp for breath and chest ache with the fullness of it all. It made the room look a million colours, the air taste like spun sugar and kissing Arthur seem simply _inevitable._ Which was why he was currently backed up against the wall, Merlin's tongue in his mouth, their hands locked around each other's waists.

"' _thur,"_ said Merlin, when he surfaced for air. "God – I can't-"

One of Arthur's hands – his beautiful, talented hands - were bracketing his hip. Merlin could feel it through his shirt, the heat of the palm and the splay of fingers making him shiver. Arthur's other hand was running up and down his back, pulling them closer. Merlin startled when the hand pushed itself beneath his shirt, the touch of Arthur's hand on his bare skin sparked like electricity. Merlin kissed down Arthur's jaw line, inhaling in the dip of his neck while Arthur groaned.

"Too skinny," said Arthur, words slurring a little with the whiskey they had consumed barely half an hour ago. "Need to eat more.  _Jesus."_

And then it was Merlin who had his back pressed against Arthur's kitchen wall. Arthur's presence was hot and overwhelming. His hair smelt of sweat and rosin and smoke, but he was sucking a bruise into Merlin's collarbone and Merlin couldn't  _think._ At the back of his mind though, he knew there was something wrong. It was the sensation dreamers often had, the feeling that something wasn't quite real, that there was this moment was fleeting and would disappear forever once the music had gone. But right now Merlin didn't  _care._ He held Arthur closer, the heat of him more real than anything Merlin had ever felt, more desirable than any dream chasing he had ever done. He turned his head, trying to catch Arthur's mouth again. But Arthur only nuzzled beneath his jaw, pressing a kiss there instead. Merlin shuddered with the sensation of it. He couldn't breathe; he couldn't  _breathe._ Arthur was whispering nonsense into his ear, voice desperate and eyes hot with want, and Merlin had been denying everything for far too long.

Inevitability was/meant hot kisses and the slid of skin on skin.

Inevitability was nothing like music.

 

:i:

At some point, Will had caused Merlin to have an epiphany. It wasn't one event, per se. There wasn't a point in time when Merlin could point at and say  _everything changed_ because, in many ways, nothing had changed. Merlin still had to take three different inhalers to school every day. His teachers were notified of the tablets and pills he had to take, the ones before meals, the ones after, and the ones an hour after that. The hospitals never changed. The smell of anaesthetic continued to make Merlin feel nauseas, children continued to cry in the waiting rooms, and the same sound, a b-flat, continued to chime over head whenever the intercom came on _._ No, nothing changed, could change, or ever would change; Merlin had accepted the fact ever since Hunith had sat him down and told him about his father.

But, at some point, Will changed Merlin.

It was probably a few words, plucked at random from any given conversation. It could have been a shove to the shoulder:

"Merl, just  _keep up!_ "

Or

"Merl, what are you waiting for?"

Merlin liked to think that everything he did, he chose to do. When his teacher slammed a fist onto the table and shouted about waste and responsibility and discipline, Merlin walked out the door. He played what he liked, played how he liked because that was all the freedom he had. It never occurred to him that he walked out of a lot of doors, turned a lot of things away, when he made those choices.

It was strange, that tug and pull of days, months, and years breathing slowly, of black words on white paper that made his mother frown, and of the men in white coats who were always smiling to Merlin but never to Hunith. It tugged when he coughed, and pulled when he fell asleep. It was never painless.

He couldn't sing for very long, because his lungs couldn't cope. He couldn't run with will down the road, chasing the cars and the neighbour's dogs, because he would tire and cough and then his mother would be worried.

Merlin had caught her crying, once, in the living room.

He was six, and he had stood in the doorway, trying to place that uncomfortable tug in his chest. Hunith had looked up, eyes red rimmed, a photo album open beside him.

"Mum," said Merlin. "Mum, don't cry."

Hunith sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve.

"Come here, sweetheart," she said. Merlin had been so very relieved that her voice wasn't wavery or too sad that he had obediently moved over. Hunith had pulled him onto her lap, hugging him tight to her chest. He couldn't see her face from this angle, only her hair, but he could hear when she let out another sob.

"I love you so much," she whispered. "Oh,  _Merlin._ "

And Merlin had hugged her back, hands looped around his mother's neck. The photograph of his father smiled back at him from the abandoned album on the sofa.

 

:i:

Merlin woke because he couldn't breathe.

This in itself wasn't an unusual thing, not lately anyway. It wasn't unusual to feel like someone had sucked all the air from your lungs and you couldn't inhale or to feel the raw dryness in his throat that came from sleep. Automatically, Merlin patted the air beside his mattress, trying to find his inhaler. His wrist whacked painfully against the edge of something sharp and cold, and his eyes flew open.

At first, he couldn't see much of anything at all. He rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the sleep from them, and realised four things. One, he wasn't in his flat. Two, his arm was stuck beneath him. Three, someone  _else's_ arm was slung around his waist. Four, he mustn't panic. He  _mustn't panic._

Merlin tried taking deep breaths. He tried curling his knees up to elevate the pressure on his chest, tried inhaling through his mouth and nose. There was an answering  _pang_ in his chest, somewhere in the region of his heart, and he gave himself a thump there to make it go away. He took another breath, holding it for as long as he could, then exhaled.  _Where was his inhaler?_

The arm that was slung over his hip shifted, the hand splayed across Merlin's chest radiated warmth even as it pulled Merlin away from the edge of the bed. It was a long moment before Merlin managed to summon the courage to turn around, shifting against Arthur.

There were wine-red blinds over the window, filtering the sunlight so that the room was bathed in a warm, rich glow. It stained the sheets an earthy brown, turned Arthur's hair a burnished colour where his head rested in the crook of Merlin's neck. Merlin could feel his own heart beat, increasing like fingers sliding up the stem of a metronome, shallow and hitched.

It was very warm in Arthur's bed. Merlin closed his eyes, listening to Arthur's easy breathing, smooth and soft, warm puffs against his skin.  _In, out. In, out._  He traced the line where their bodies were pressed together, legs tangled in sheets and heavy blankets. He shifted, eyes still closed, so that they were facing each other. He slid a tentative hand between them, letting it come to rest on Arthur's heart. The movement dislodged Arthur's own hand. He made a quiet, hum of protest, a frown appearing on his face. His arm snaked itself over and around Merlin's back instead, pulling Merlin closer,  _closer_ until Merlin couldn't see anything but the long curve of Arthur's neck and the delicate shell of his ear and could only feel the rhythm of his heart beneath Merlin's palm.

He let his own breathing match Arthur's, rising and falling in tandem.  _In, out._

"… _Mer'in_ ," Arthur murmured so quiet it was almost lost. Merlin's eyes flew open; his body became tense all over. But Arthur only made another soft, humming noise and did not wake. He had Merlin in a tight embrace, even in sleep, and Merlin allowed himself sink back into it. The frown on Arthur's face had relaxed, smoothing out into something more vulnerable, younger… open.

Merlin's heart ached; a painful sensation made his eyes sting. He closed them, so that he could memorise the moment, the feel of Arthur's skin beneath his hands. They had worn a dip into the bed, and Merlin didn't even know how they got here, half-dressed beneath Arthur's sheets. – The events of last night were only a blur of streetlights, music, and empty glasses. He squeezed his eyes shut, his face scrunching up in the attempt to stave off tears. The silence weighed heavily on him.

They lay there in the early morning sun for a long, long time. Merlin opened his eyes slowly, He shifted on his elbows, pushing himself away and up. Arthur made a noise of protest, hand still splayed in the dip of Merlin's back. And Merlin  _wanted._ But he couldn't do that to Arthur. He didn't want to risk the expression on Arthur's face when he woke up. Merlin couldn't give then take away.

Instead, he leaned back in, leaned in so that their foreheads touched, noses brushing. They shared nine exhales and ten inhales of breath. There was a strip of sunlight across Arthur's face. Merlin stared at it, following the ribbon down as it curled across collarbone, golden and warm. Merlin kissed him, chaste and lingering, committing the sensation to memory. Then he carefully extricated himself from Arthur's embrace and slid out of the bed.

There were things you couldn't have. And then there were things you couldn't keep.

There really wasn't much difference at all.

 

:i:

_Merl, what are you waiting for?_

What  _was_  he waiting for?

:i:

 

Merlin had class with Gaius at one in the afternoon. By the time he got back to his apartment, it was already half past twelve, and Merlin thought he was going to die from exhaustion. But he didn't. - Instead, he let himself into the small, cramped apartment. The budgies were already up and chattering, and Merlin changed their food and water.

"Hey," he said quietly, "you sound happy."

Wolfgang nibbled his finger affectionately, before abandoning his perch in favour of food. Mozart was already eating.

Merlin went to the bathroom, pulling out the bottles of medication, antibiotics, supplements. He tipped the appropriate amount into his palm and stared at them for a little while, counting the white pink yellow, the needles still in their packages on the shelf. Merlin flushed the pills down the toilet, washed his hands, and went to get ready for class.

Will was waiting for him outside the conservatoire, a plastic bag in one hand and his violin case in the other. Merlin spotted him when he was only ten steps away, but Will must have already seen him coming. Merlin blinked, a little wary but also too tired to begin another confrontation. Will came over, looking equal parts nervous and irritated.

Typical Will.

"I'm sorry, okay?" he said, not beating about the bush. "I'm sorry."

For Will, two apologies at once was remarkable. Merlin curled his hand around the strap of his bag.

"Apology accepted," he said, smiling a little. "And I'm sorry for the-" Merlin drew a line across the forehead. Will winced, but there was a grin in his voice when he said,

"Nah, it was fine. Barely a scratch. Whereas your face still looks like…um…"

"I walked into a wall named Will?" finished Merlin wryly.

Guilt flashed across Will's face, and Merlin let it go.

"It's fine, really," he said. "I'm fine."

Will held up the plastic bag.

"I brought you strawberry mousse cake," he said. "Peace offering?"

Merlin snorted, running a hand through his hair.

"You know me too well," he said. "But my lesson with Gaius started five minutes ago. Lunch?"

"More like afternoon tea," said Will, glancing at his watch. "But fine. Just turn down cake, whatever."

Merlin laughed, and everything felt almost normal again.

:i:

Merlin kept away, avoiding Arthur for the better part of a week. Then he made the mistake of answering his phone.

"Merlin," came Arthur's voice, and Merlin could hear the annoyance, "where on  _earth_ have you been?"

Merlin hesitated.

"Busy," he said, because if he had to say anything else, he might just give in to the urge to run all the way to Arthur's apartment. Or he might throw his phone into a lake. Or both.

There was a moment's silence across the line.

"Where did you go last Thursday? I woke up and you weren't there."

Merlin swallowed hard. Across the cafeteria table, Will shot him a concerned look.

"I went home, remember?" Merlin lied. "You called me a cab because you were too drunk to function."

The latter part, at least, was true enough. Arthur had been too drunk to know what he was doing.

"Oh," said Arthur, sounding confused. "I did?"

"Yep," agreed Merlin, feeling sick to his stomach. "I've just been…busy. Catching up on uni and all that."

"Right," said Arthur. "That's – alright then. I'll see you soon? We need to rehearse for the recital – you've probably forgotten everything."

"Yeah," said Merlin, "Yeah, probably. Um, I've got to go."

"Alright," said Arthur again. There was something different about his tone of voice, but Merlin wasn't thinking straight and didn't know what it was. "S-"

Merlin hung up.

 

:i:

"So," said Morgana, "has Uther disowned you yet?"

She had dropped into Arthur's flat in her usual unexpected fashion. Arthur tried ignoring the hope and disappointment he felt when the door bell rang and it wasn't Merlin standing on the threshold.

"Haven't heard from Father yet," he said, setting down saucers on the table and two cups of cream smoothies, "which is a little worrying, perhaps."

Morgana stuck a long silver spoon into her drink, spinning the colours until they were circles of purple and pink.

"Well," she said, raising an eyebrow, "I sort of expected an explosion."

Arthur winced.

"So did I. Perhaps he simply hasn't heard about it yet? After all, this isn't exactly his usual circle."

Morgana rolled her eyes, pulling out several magazines from her handbag and pushing them across the polished breakfast table.

"Arthur, sweetheart," she said, "your electric violin and skinny jeans were all over these. I think you even made it to  _Dolly._ "

Arthur stabbed the knife viciously into the apple tart.

"If you value your life," he said, "you will not tell me any of the details."

Morgana giggled. It was the sound of evil in its purest form, and Arthur gave her the slice of apple tart with little grace. He glared at the glossy magazine covers, but refused to touch them.

"Thank you, you're a dear," said Morgana, pulling the plate towards her and slicing a spoonful of tart neatly. She popped in her mouth with a contemplative sort of expression.

"This is as delicious as ever," she said, smiling. "I'll never understand why you didn't open a restaurant. You'd make much more money than you are doing now, I'll bet."

Arthur snorted derisively, cutting himself a slice of tart.

"Then Father would have disowned me already."

"Well, I guess you're having fun being the happy cooking housewife. By the way, I hope that slice is for me, because any more and you'll need to go back to fat camp."

Arthur spluttered with indignation.

"I beg your pardon! I was  _never_  fat!"

"You were too," said Morgana cheerfully. "I have photographs."

"Right," said Arthur grumpily. "Then I guess I'll just have to stop making all these desserts."

He pulled the piece of foil-wrap over the remaining portion of apple tart, tucking the rim beneath the lip of the plate. Morgana made a sad noise, pouting.

"Oh, don't put that away!" she said, pointing to the tart with her spoon. "I'm sorry I insulted your masculinity. Don't be mean now."

Arthur opened the fridge, sliding the plate onto its appropriate shelf. He returned to the table.

"It's for Merlin," he said, taking a sip of his drink and a spoonful of the apple tart. It wasn't his best pastry, but it wasn't too bad either, Perhaps he should have used a little less cinnamon with the apples. Merlin had an unnatural fondness for cinnamon, however, and Arthur hoped that he would be his usual appreciative self. When he looked up, it was to Morgana's rather triumphant expression, a gleeful twist to the side of her mouth.

"What?" he asked, frowning.

"Oh," she said, dipping the spoon back into her drink, " _nothing_."

Arthur glared at her. Morgana only gave him a winning smile, all straight teeth and lipstick.

"Tell me more about those rabid fan girls who tried to rape you."

 

:i:

Merlin received two phone calls from Cara Lake. It put him on edge, made him nervous. It was probably because with every word, with each day he would not spend with Arthur, London looked closer and closer. After all, it took only one kiss to change your perspective.

"Do you think I should go?" he asked Will and Lance in the middle of their chamber music rehearsal. Merlin had missed roughly eight of these in the last few months, and he was determined to get back into Will's good graces.

"Go where?" asked Lance, turning his page. Freya was scribbling something down on her music, cello propped against her leg.

"London," said Merlin. "For the recording and maybe a recital. Cara rang again yesterday."

Will frowned.

"I thought you didn't want to go."

Merlin shrugged, staring at his own reflection in the piano's polished surface. He looked tired and listless, unattractive shadows beneath his eyes. Even the music sounded restless, twisting about his wrists, notes winding and falling without direction. He had lost something to Arthur when he woke that morning, something that left him anchorless in a deep, deep sea. He hadn't been sleeping well, dreams plagued with the shape of Arthur's hands, the smell of him, the taste of his lips. It would envelope Merlin in warmth so complete that when he woke, it left him feeling cold and bereft, left his pillow stained with tears.

Merlin tried not going to sleep, but that hadn't worked either.

"I didn't," said Merlin.

Lance didn't say anything, though he was contemplating Merlin with the air of someone seeing right through you. Merlin pretended not to notice and curled into the keys.

"Never mind," he said. "Let's start from figure B."

 

:i:

It was a Wednesday when Uther Pendragon came to see him.

"Will," Merlin called whilst he struggled with the old lock on his door, "you had better have brought th-"

But it wasn't Will standing in the doorway. It was a formidable looking man in his late forties or fifties. He was wearing a dark suit and a red silk tie with a gold pin. His hands were covered in leather gloves, soft and expensive. There was something oddly familiar about his features, but Merlin was sure he had never seen him before. The man was not smiling, eyebrows raised slightly as Merlin stood there, frozen in surprise.

"I – do you have the wrong address?" said Merlin, tentatively, one hand still on the door. He had paid his rent that month; he  _had._ And from past experience, the people who came to pound for rent had never been dressed so well. Merlin swallowed.

"Mr. Emrys?" said the man. Merlin nodded, warily. "I'm Uther Pendragon."

Merlin stared.

"I think it's best if we continue this conversation inside," said Uther. It was more command than request, so Merlin reluctantly stepped back, opening the door to let the man into his apartment. Merlin stayed by the door, hovering.

Uther was surveying the room, not even trying to conceal the expression of distaste on his face. Merlin saw him take in the mattress, the rumpled duvet, and the music and books scattered about the floor around the piano. Some of his clothes were strewn by the bed, and candy wrappers had spilled from his bag by the wall. Merlin moved away from the door, crossing the room quickly and shifting some music off of the piano stool.

"Um, would you like a seat…?" he offered. "I can make you tea or-"

"I'll stand, thank you," said Uther. "This won't take long."

"Oh," said Merlin.

"I understand you have been my son's… temporary accompanist," said Uther.

The word 'temporary' was like a slap to the face, but Merlin lifted his chin.

"Yes," he said.

"I'm here to tell you that your position has been terminated," said Uther, "Morgana has fully recovered from her injury and your… services will no longer be required."

Merlin stared at the man in shock.

" _What?"_

There no visible change in Uther's expression, though Merlin thought he saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Arthur hasn't said anything," said Merlin, trying to keep his voice calm and steady. "You must be mistaken."

Uther made a careless gesture with one gloved hand.

"I assure you, I am not mistaken," he said. "You are no longer his accompanist."

"But -"

"Let me ask you something, Mr. Emrys," said Uther, sharply. "Do you know how this industry works?"

Merlin clenched his fist, then uncurled his fingers slowly.

"Not really," he admitted. "But what has that got to do with-"

"Let's cut to the chase," said Uther, gaze pinning Merlin where he stood, "You don't know anything. You are a mediocre musician, struggling with debt and riding on my son's name and success."

 

Merlin felt a flare of anger in his chest, hot yet cold at the same time.

"I'm not," he said, trying to stay civil. "I just accompany-"

Uther snorted.

"Do not presume I am ignorant of your relationship with my son. Against his better judgement, you have wormed your way into his affections and his wallet. I am not letting you get in the way of his career."

Merlin felt like the breath had been knocked out of him. This was Arthur's  _father -_ Arthur's father who thought Merlin was doing nothing but taking advantage of his friendship, Arthur's father who was standing in Merlin's apartment and  _threatening_ him. Merlin reeled from shock.

"That  _fiasco_  of a concert you managed to con him into," spat Uther, expression turning ugly with anger. "Your influence will be the death of his career! How long do you think he will last if he goes down this track? A year? Three at most?" He paused, and Merlin couldn't look away. His mind was a static blank.

"I shall never understand why he kept you on after you proved to be so utterly incompetent." said Uther, and every word was like a shard of ice.

"I don't see how any of this is your business," said Merlin, more boldly than he felt. "If Arthur wants to fire me, he will. Until then, I'm not leaving just because you think I can't do my job."

They stared at each other across the room, Merlin with his head held high. Then Uther smiled.

"I think you'll find certain difficulties," he said, drawing out a folded sheaf of papers from inside his suit jacket.

"What do you mean?" said Merlin, throat dry. God, he wished he had never answered the door.

"How long do you think you have left, Mr. Emrys?"

Merlin couldn't move. His ears were filled with the sound of his own rapid breathing, shallow and rasping. His couldn't speak, the words lodged in his windpipe, made his skin feel cold and numb.

"Living with such a…crippling disease must be hard," said Uther, the mock concern in his voice grating and harsh. "I see here that the condition has become worse and that your doctors have recommended surgery?"

"Please leave," said Merlin, finally forcing himself to speak. "Mr. Pendragon-"

"Does Arthur know?" Uther went on. When Merlin remained silent, he said, "…Yes, that's what I thought. Well, that's interesting, don't you think?"

"You can't blackmail me," said Merlin, unable to keep the uncertainty from his voice. "It doesn't matter whether Arthur knows or not."

Uther gave him a shrewd look. Then he made an unconcerned gesture.

"It matters to you."

"I - "

"You have two options," said Uther. "One, you leave and never talk to my son again. He carries on a virtuosi career worthy of his name. Or two, you stay and ruin his career when you can no longer meet the demand of playing."

Merlin took a deep breath.

"Please leave," he said, and his hand was shaking. "You have no right-"

"I will not see my son brought down to ruin," said Uther, voice flat and cold, "He has a future in front of him."

"I would never-!"

"I trust you will make the right decision," said Uther with a curt nod. "Or you may find that you encounter difficulties…elsewhere."

Then he gave Merlin a half-smile, the expression an ugly twist of the mouth. Merlin watched as Uther Pendragon turned on his heels and walked out of his apartment, the door slamming behind him with a sharp  _bang._ He heard the sound of the elevator doors opening and closing and the whirr of it descending. Only when everything was silent once more, did Merlin allow himself to collapse onto the bed.

"God-" he said to the empty room. Then he suddenly pushed himself upright and staggered into the bathroom, just in time to throw up violently in the sink. He heaved, coughing as he twisted the tap. Water gushed, freezing and rattling through the pipes, drowning out the taste of salt and tears, " _God."_ Merlin tried to catch his breath, tried holding an inhale but it only made everything swim before his eyes.

_Ruin, incompetence, disease ?_

He fumbled in his pockets, desperate for his inhaler, but it was not there. Merlin pushed himself away from the sink and out of the bathroom. His eyes were foggy and blurred with anger – it was  _anger,_ how dare Uther come in here and say – Merlin tipped the contents of his bag onto the floor, rifling through it until he found his inhaler. He shook it, sticking the end into his mouth and pushing the button, gulping breaths and trying to keep his heart under control. Gods, he felt  _sick._

Merlin moved towards his piano, lifting the lid with shaking fingers and making himself sit down. He would be alright, everything would be alright. Arthur wouldn't – Merlin wouldn't really have to-

/embed WILL YOU TEACH ME?

He pressed down on a random note, waiting for the music to start. The piano only stared back at him, silent. Panicking, Merlin started a Chopin waltz – or was it a nocturne? – but the chords wouldn't come, the flats and sharps merging into one. Merlin's heart seized tight. He was without oxygen and without music. He played the first line of the Rachmaninov that Arthur had been playing on his speakers, a melody to wind about you, comforting and warm.  _You have two options._ It died out after the first phrase, the memory of it lost. Merlin couldn't remember what came next.

He couldn't remember  _what came next_.

He couldn't remember –

With a strangled cry, Merlin slammed his fists down on the keys again and again, the discords loud and jarring, the notes exploding like glass across the room until Merlin was riddled with the sound, his chest torn open as he kicked the stool over, slammed the lid of the piano down with an almighty  _bang._

"God dammit! Why?" he shouted, the echoes of the piano still ringing in his ears. " _I hate-!"_

He kicked out against the piano, slammed a fist against the polished surface, the curve of its body, sleek and smooth and cool to the touch. It hurt his hands, the piano remained unmoving and constant as ever. Merlin crossed the room to the calendar. He tore it down from the wall, ripped the little crossed out boxes into snow. He shouted until his voice was hoarse, until there was no breath left in his lungs.

Merlin let himself slide down the wall. He could see Arthur Plushie where it he had fallen out of Merlin's bag, face down on the carpet. Merlin forced himself to move. He picked up the Plushie, hugged it to his chest, breathed it in. It felt familiar… familiar and yet insubstantial. He drew his knees to his chest, Arthur Plushie wrapped in his arms. Letting himself tilt sideways, Merlin came to rest against the wall. He stared at the grey ceiling, unable to see as he shuddered with tears. Above him, moonlight streamed in from the window.

At some point, Merlin fell asleep, curled on the floor.

 

:i:

"You said it may be fatal. How long?" asked Merlin. The doctor frowned, and Merlin could tell he didn't want to answer. He was glad Will wasn't here, even though it had taken him three days to summon enough courage to go to the hospital on his own. It was still as white and as foreboding as ever. Merlin hated it.

"I really don't think-"

" _How long_?" demanded Merlin.

"Without further examination I cannot be sure," the doctor said, "But without surgery…"

"Just fucking  _tell me._ "

"Six months," he said. "A year at most. But you must understand, Mr. Emrys, with intensive treatment there's no guarantee that it will be fatal. Most cases we have treated have –  _Mr. Emrys_!"

Life waited for no one.

 

:i:

_3 days later._

 

When Merlin finally picked up, Arthur was on the verge of pushing the end-call button.

"Hello," came Merlin's voice.

Arthur frowned.

"Are you alright?"

There was a pause.

"Yes. Why wouldn't I be?"

Arthur fingered the polishing cloth he kept in his violin case, feeling the satin beneath the pad of his fingers.

"You've been buried with university and what not," said Arthur, decided to change the subject. "I think it's time we had a rehearsal for the recital, yes? Or are you too busy right now?"

There. That sounded prudent enough, not too hopeful. Arthur folded the cloth in thirds with one hand, biting his lip.

"Okay," said Merlin, "In two hours? I'm…in the middle of something."

"Oh," said Arthur, trying to hide the disappointment. "I thought we- that is to say, I'm preparing lunch. Quiche? I thought you'd like to help me finish them off."

There was a pause.

"Sorry, Arthur, I can't. I'll see you in two hours?"

Arthur sighed.

"I can't believe you're turning down food," he said. Merlin made a sound that was probably supposed to be a laugh, but it sounded strange over the phone.

"Yeah. See you soon."

He hung up.

Arthur stared at his phone for a long moment, before snapping it shut and dropping it into his violin case. He tried not to think about the unease in his stomach, or the fact that, without Merlin, his apartment seemed far too silent. He couldn't quite put his finger on what had changed, but something had. Arthur slid a CD at random into the player, letting Bach play through the speakers.

He did not count the hours until the clock struck three.

Merlin was twenty minutes late.

"Sorry," he said, when Arthur opened the door. "The bus was delayed."

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Merlin, I'm used to it by now. Part of the package – if you're ever on time, I will surely have a heart attack."

"Hmm," said Merlin, toeing off his shoes and setting them neatly by the door. "What are we going through today?"

Arthur blinked in surprise. They had taken to mucking around for a good ten minutes every time Merlin came over. Usually it consisted of Merlin eating and Arthur telling him off, but it was a comfortable routine. The sudden change threw Arthur off course, and he was reminded of the first time he met Merlin.

"I thought we could run through the Paganini," said Arthur, hesitating. "Are you sure you don't want lunch?"

"Already ate," said Merlin, crossing to the piano and setting down his bag. He must have caught Arthur staring because he gave him a smile, all curved lips and crinkled eyes. But it still didn't feel right, somehow.

"Are you sure you're okay?" said Arthur, only half-mocking, "You're being stranger than usual."

"I'm fine," said Merlin. "Just tired."

"Well, so long as you don't fall asleep," said Arthur, picking up his violin. "Let's warm up. _Tutti_?"

When Merlin played, Arthur noticed he used the music and did not improvise.

 

:i:

It was funny how things were turning out.

"Merlin," said Cara, sounding pleasantly surprised. "How good to hear from you."

"How are you?" asked Merlin politely.

"Fantastic, now that you're talking to me again," said Cara with a tinkling laugh. "I said we'd be in touch, didn't I? Have you reconsidered my offer?"

Merlin took a deep breath.

"Yes," he said.

"Well that's marvellous," said Cara, "because I have some good news for you."

 

:i:

"Have you ever thought about going overseas?" asked Merlin.

He and Will were sitting outside the university auditorium, where a tall brick wall ran along the side of an artificial lake. They were perched on top of the wall, legs swinging over the edge. Merlin was clutching a half-empty bag of bread crusts, throwing them to the ducks below.

Will shrugged.

 

"I suppose. Would be cool."

"Yeah," said Merlin. He broke another long piece of crust into pieces and dropped them into the water. Ducks quacked and chased each other around as they fought for the bread.

"Is this about London?" asked Will .

"Yeah," Merlin said again. He kept his eyes trained on the water, the reflection of sky and clouds in the clear surface. Debussy, without the fourths and fifths. "I think I might go."

He felt Will go still as a statue beside him.

"What?"

Merlin looked up, shielding his eyes from the glare of the afternoon sun. Will's hair was spiky today, gelled tips casting an odd shadow on the surface of the lake.

"You were the one who said I should go," said Merlin. "Don't tell me you're going to try persuade me otherwise."

"What brought this on?"

Merlin turned away. He preoccupied himself with the bread and the ducks for a while, ignoring the way Will's stare burned into the side of his neck.

"Time, I guess," said Merlin. "Being more than this." He gestured, a sweeping movement that took in the campus, the water, everything.

Will punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"That's my man," he said, and the delight in his voice made Merlin smile properly for the first time in days, "So you said yes to DECCA?"

"Well, not exactly," said Merlin. "I said yes to Cara. Apparently I've sold well in England, and Gaius is well known over there."

"…And?"

"London Philharmonic?" said Merlin. "I told her you're coming or I'm not doing the concert, and she said yes and-"

"FUCK!" Will shouted and tackled Merlin into a bear hug.

"Will!" cried Merlin, grappling for the edge, but it was too late. "Stop, WIlL! I'm going to- _shit_!" He overbalanced, and they toppled off the wall with a ginormous  _splash_ into the lake.

"HOLY FUCK!" Will was shouting between hooting with laughter. Merlin spat out a mouthful of weed-flavoured water, kicking to stay afloat, "Shit, Merlin! I'm sorry! Haha!"

Merlin kicked Will hard in the shins, hair plastered to his head as he started swimming for the bank. He could hear people screeching with laughter. someone shouted, "Good work, guys!" over the bridge.

"Fuck off, mate!" Will shouted back, still laughing as Merlin pulled himself up onto the grass. He was absolutely soaked, and he gave a full-bodied shudder before peeling some weeds off his legs.

"I hate you," he said, glaring at Will. "You are going to drive back to my apartment and get me some clean clothes. Now!"

Will was laughing so hard that he looked like he was having a seizure.

"You look like a drowned rat," he said, pointing at Merlin. "God that was hilarious. And Fuck! Are you serious about London?  _Really_?"

Merlin flopped back onto the grass. It was sun-warmed and smelt much nicer than the lake water. He stared up at the blue sky, blinking water from his eyes. Beside him, Will was shaking himself like a dog, spiky hair ruined.

"I think the company is paying for airfares," said Merlin. "That's what Cara told me."

"Huh," said Will. "They must really love you."

"Yeah, I suppose."

"You're going to make them a billion dollars. Then buy an island." said Will. "I could be your agent."

Merlin yawned. His clothes felt truly disgusting, but he couldn't' make himself move. It was much easier to just lie here. To their right, he could hear the cacophony of ducks feasting on the bread-crusts, which must have fallen into the lake with Merlin and Will.

"You'd make a lousy agent," said Merlin.

Will grinned at him, face half obscured by the grass. There was a daisy flower right by Merlin's eye, and he broke it off. It stained his fingers a bright yellow.

"I am fantastic, and you know it."

Merlin turned back to the sky, closing his eyes with a smile.

 

:i:

Merlin had several philosophies. In fact, he had philosophies about everything. He believed that it was better to fall in love and never be loved, rather than never to love at all. He believed that there might be a god somewhere, but, so long as that god didn't make people go around killing other people, then it shouldn't matter who the god was. He believed that if you owned an instrument in your house and never played it, it would be the ultimate bad luck and you will suffer a lonely, lonely life. He believed that there was no sense in playing music you didn't love because love was music you had to feel.

Merlin believed in a lot of things.

Some days, he believed he could live without Arthur because he had done it before. Other days, wasn't so sure.

:i:

"I don't think you should go," said Gaius, looking at Merlin over his spectacles.

"…what?" asked Merlin, not quite sure if he had heard correctly. "But –"

"I know Ms. Lake of old," said Gaius. "and she has a certain… reputation."

"What reputation?"

Gaius paused, but didn't answer. Merlin pushed away from the keyboard.

"I've already said yes," said Merlin stubbornly.

"You have?" asked Gaius, sounding startled. "My boy, I hope you haven't done anything rash – haven't signed any contracts without consulting someone. Isn't Pendragon your manager at the moment?"

Merlin stared hard at his hands.

"Merlin?"

"I don't know. Don't think so."

Gaius sighed heavily.

"What have you done?"

"I'm making more of myself," said Merlin, looking up. Why was Gaius being like this? Merlin didn't understand that the confusion and hurt made his head ache. "Isn't that what you've been telling me? Not to waste my potential, not to hold back, do something, take opportunities, work harder."

"My boy, I just think you're making a very rash decision-"

"It's not like I had the choice!" shouted Merlin, and he couldn't bear the look on Gaius' face. Standing up abruptly, he nearly knocked over the piano stool in his haste to reach the door. He took a shuddering breath, wrenching the door open and escaping from the room. He ignored Gaius, who was calling his name.

_You have two options._

Merlin didn't know what to do.

 

:i:

Arthur let the pencil fall, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. Manuscript paper lay spread across the top of the piano, the sun making the ink seem blacker, solid crochets forming a seemingly random pattern across the staves. There was something  _wrong_ with this piece Arthur couldn't seem to fix. It didn't want to be resolved.

Erasing the last six bars, Arthur played the melody over again on the piano, frowning in concentrating. Then he penned in an alternative, something lighter, more whimsical. He let the tune guide the left hand, something clichéd and minimal which would have made him cringe six months ago. Now, the sound of it made Arthur smile.

There were six already finished pieces in a folder, the final and seventh was being pulled apart and put back together. They were Bagatelles, small pieces like windows looking out over different landscape – the third was full of rain, the others sunshine and autumn coloured sweets. Arthur experimented a little, dragging the phrase like a comb through the keys, and then paused to write it down.

Twenty minutes later, when the last double bar-lines had been carefully drawn, Arthur slid the pages into order, then tied it together in the folder. He slid everything into a large, cream envelope, tying it off with a ribbon. Then he crossed to the bookshelf and hid Merlin's Christmas present securely between the two huge Bach collections where Merlin was sure not to look.

Arthur stretched, leisurely, smiling at the Merlin Plushie sitting on top of his piano.

The doorbell rang.

Turning in surprise, Arthur walked to the door of the studio and opened it. Morgana stood in the doorway.

"Your uncanny ability to know which floor I'm on is vaguely creepy," said Arthur, as Morgana threw a sheaf of stapled papers into his arms.

"From Uther," she said, wrinkling her nose. "New contracts for you to look over."

"Really," said Arthur, glancing at the typed print and scowling. He dumped them on the piano. "I'll have a look later."

"Or not," said Morgana, sweeping over to the piano. "Gosh, it has been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Since you've been here terrorising my piano? Yes, it has."

Morgana played a quick scale up and down the keyboard.

"Oh, Arthur, you're too sweet. Tell me you missed me this week."

"Or not," said Arthur, smirking. "Anything to drink?"

"Blueberry smoothies," said Morgana at once. "I have a craving for your fruit concoctions. Add strawberries, if you have them!"

Arthur rolled his eyes.

" _At once,_ " he said, making his way downstairs. "Don't do anything outrageous while I'm gone."

Morgana was already immersed in some Debussy etude and promptly played a few ominous chords in answer.

When the smoothie was finished, Arthur poured the liquid into two tall glasses then carried them back up to the studio.

"Here's your drink, you harpy," he said, as he emerged into the room. Then he stopped at the sight of Merlin.

"Look who's here!" said Morgana with a flourish. "My favourite pianist! He can have my smoothie – you're right, Arthur, he needs fattening up."

Merlin blushed bright red, looking distinctly uncomfortable with Morgana's arm around his shoulders. Arthur set the two glasses down on the coffee table, smirking.

"Didn't hear the bell over the blender," he said to Merlin.

Merlin shrugged, smiling back.

"That's alright. I was just leaving anyway. I-"

"Nonsense!" said Morgana, spinning around to sit on the piano stool. "You just got here."

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"Would you like a glass?" asked Arthur.

Merlin shook his head, eyes averted. "No – I'm already interrupting. I just thought – I mean-"

Arthur wondered what it was about Morgana that managed to intimidate all his friends – including Merlin, it seemed – to the point of incoherence. Merlin was looking distinctly stressed, his mouth was a worried, tense line that Arthur had come to associate with particularly vigorous uses of the metronome. And any previous traces of a smile was gone. He looked tired.

"You're really not interrupting anything," said Arthur. "Morgana was just butchering our repertoire."

"Excuse me," said Morgana, sweeping her hair off her shoulders, "I was doing nothing of the sort."

And she sightread a little extract, far too fast and with the mordents exaggerated. It sounded nothing like Merlin's playing, and Arthur was surprised to realise he preferred Merlin's.

"Tell Arthur that is not butchering, Merlin," Morgana commanded.

"Arthur, you're being a prat," Merlin said, obligingly, making Morgana burst into laughter.

"I really like you!" she said, "I'm so glad I broke my hand. Now Arthur can-"

"Morgana!" Arthur hissed, before she could saw anything lewd or inappropriate as she was oft to do.

Merlin smiled faintly.

"Arthur," he said, "I- I think I might have left something in your living room? Downstairs?"

Arthur snorted.

"That sounds like you – what was it?"

"Um," said Merlin, rubbing one eye with his hand, "it was – er – I can't remember?"

"Well, you can go have a look, see if you find it," said Arthur. " _Can't remember_. Honestly."

There were twin spots of colour, high on Merlin's cheeks. It reminded Arthur of something else... brush of lips, the touch of skin...and he cleared his throat. Merlin hovered at the top of the stairs, giving Arthur an undecipherable look and hesitating.

"Um," he said, glancing from Arthur to Morgana then back again.

Then he seemed to make up his mind, turned and disappeared down the stairs.

Morgana gave Arthur a sly smile.

"So," she said, "left something in your living room, did he?"

"Morgana…" said Arthur.

"I'm just saying," said Morgana, taking a sip of her drink. "I've known you for how long? And I've only been in your living room five times. And one of those times was when you first bought this place, the other time when Uther threatened to cut you out of his will. Neither counts."

"How many times do I have to tell you-" Arthur began. But they were interrupted by Merlin's voice, calling;

"Arthur!"

Morgana stabbed him in the cheek with the end of her spoon.

"Your boyfriend calls. Hurry up."

"Oh shut up," said Arthur, but he got up and made his way down the stairs.

"Merlin, you're utterly useless, aren't you?" he called coming into the living room.

Arthur stopped in his tracks. Merlin was just standing there, half-facing the window. He didn't even look around. Arthur took a few more steps into the room, uncertainty curling in his gut.

"Merlin?" he asked, hesitantly, "Are you alright?"

"Morgana is very good," said Merlin randomly, "on the piano. Isn't she?"

Arthur shrugged, a little confused with the change of conversation.

"I suppose she is alright. Don't let her know I ever said that though, alright?"

"You're a Prat, Arthur," said Merlin, turning around.

Arthur raised both eyebrows.

"…so you've said."

"But you're amazing too. Despite being a Prat. But you have to learn to  _listen_."

Arthur walked around the couch to stand next to Merlin, who was staring at him with such a heavy look his eyes thatArthur didn't know what to say.

"Thank you?" he said, puzzled at the expression on Merlin's face. "But I think we've established that I'm fairly brilliant a long time ago."

Merlin didn't laugh. Instead, he closed the gap between them, grabbed Arthur by the tie and crushed their mouths together. Arthur gasped, and Merlin kissed him hard, lips demanding and hot against Arthur's own. Unbidden, Arthur leaned forwards, his hand coming up automatically to frame Merlin's hip. He could taste sugar on Merlin's tongue, like sweets, and it sparked something in his gut.

It was this flare of  _want_ that made Arthur jerk to a stop, surprise overriding lust. He pulled away.

Merlin took a stumbling step backwards, eyes wide, expression so open and the emotions so raw it  _scared_ Arthur.

"What the fuck was that?" he demanded, before his brain processed what had happened. "What the-?"

Merlin's face fell. Without another word, he pushed passed Arthur and ran for the stairs.

"Wait!" Arthur shouted. "Merlin!"

He heard Morgana say, "Did you find what you were looking for then?" and emerged into the studio in time to see Merlin fumbling with the strap of his bag.

"No," he said, not looking at either of them. "No, I didn't."

"Merlin, wait" said Arthur, because  _what the fuck?_

"I'll see you around. I've- I've got to…" And Merlin pulled the door open and was gone. Arthur stared at the place where Merlin had been, bewildered, the taste of Merlin's lips still on his tongue.

Morgana stood up.

"Start explaining," she said, " _Now._ "

 

:i:

_Inevitability._

Merlin fingered the airplane tickets in his jacket pocket. He rested his forehead against the mirror of the elevator and closed his eyes. Music played on loop from the speakers, trickling down and swirling about Merlin's feet like rain water.

:i:

 

"Mum?"

"Merlin! Sweetheart, how have you been?"

"I'm alright, mum."

"You should call more often. How's school?"

Merlin smiled.

"It's fine. Great, actually. Listen, mum, I have some good stuff to tell you."

"Well, don't tell me you have good news,  _tell me_."

Merlin laughed.

"'Kay. Well, I've got the opportunity to perform in London, Mum, and publish a recording and everything. Remember the one I sent you a while ago? It's like that, but bigger."

"Oh Merlin!" Hunith's voice rose in pitch. "I'm so proud of you, baby."

"So yeah," said Merlin, biting his lip, "I leave in four days."

"FOUR DAYS?" his mother screeched, "But are you sure you can travel, sweetheart? What about-"

"Will's coming with me," said Merlin quickly, glancing at the patch of his wall where the calendar used to be, "He's coming too, mum."

"Oh," said Hunith, and sounding much relieved, "Well, if Will's going too. I suppose that's alright – you'll look after yourselves?"

Merlin took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

"Of course, mum."

"What have the doctors been saying?"

"I'm fine."

"Is that what they said?"

Merlin swallowed back his tears.

"Yeah – everything's great, mum."

"Well. Make sure you take your preventer. And eat all the proper-"

"Mum!"

"I'm so very proud of you, my heart could burst! You wait until I tell Glenda about this. You had better send me postcards while you're all the way in England."

"I'll send you all the ones I can find," Merlin promised. "Mum…I-"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Nothing," said Merlin. "Got to go, Will's here."

"Well, give him my love. Bye, sweetheart!"

"Bye," said Merlin. Then he added desperately, "Love you, mum."

Hunith's laughter was a little distorted over the line, but it still made Merlin feel warmer.

"Love you too, Merlin."

_Click._

 


	11. ELEVEN

:i:

_**"The earth is suffocating... As this cough will choke me, I implore you to have my body opened,  
** _ _**so that I may not be buried alive."** _

– Chopin

 

:i:

With words, it's hard to say anything meaningful at all. For example, few people say the word "love" and mean it because no one really knows what the word love means. The people who made up the word probably weren't sure either. It's difficult to say "sorry" because the word "sorry" only makes a list of all the reasons you were wrong. It doesn't include the yearning, the regret, the happiness without which there is nothing to be sorry _for_. It doesn't include "I miss you", but then again, "miss" doesn't really mean anything at all. The word "goodbye" is nearly impossible to say.

They say music begins when words end.

But, sometimes, words are all that there is left.

Merlin's flat had never looked so clean.

There were no clothes scattered haphazardly on every available surface, no sweets wrappers littering the floor. The mattress was pushed against the wall, Merlin's sheet music and CDs packed away in boxes by the sink. Everything in the fridge had been cleared out, and it no longer hummed with electricity. Will had lugged in a vacuum cleaner and gotten rid of all the familiar spider webs in the corners of the ceiling. Even the cranberry-juice stain on the carpet was almost gone. The piano was covered, its stool tucked underneath.

Gwen was holding the budgie cage in her arms, cooing at the birds. Lance held Merlin's entire budgie-food stash as well as all the toy swings and bells that Merlin changed on a rotation basis, so the budgies wouldn't be bored.

"Thanks for taking them," said Merlin, smiling at Gwen, "The food should last for a good two months. I kinda stocked up for winter."

Lance chuckled.

"Yeah, this weighs about a tonne."

"Good to see that viola playing hasn't bulked you up any," said Will, smirking.

"For the last time – it's a  _violin,_ " said Lance, rolling his eyes.

"They're sweet!" exclaimed Gwen as Wolfgang nibbled on her finger through the bars. Mozart was on the other side of the cage, looking distinctly grumpy and presenting Gwen with his tail feathers. He was eyeing Merlin with a much betrayed look in his beady eyes, and he swallowed hard because he wasn't going to  _cry_.

"Mozart might bite you," said Merlin. "So. Um."

"Well, I'm going to go put them in the car before my arms fall off," said Gwen, "Lance – keys!"

"I'll come with you," said Lance. But he turned to Merlin and asked, "Is there anything else they need?"

Merlin shrugged, staring at the budgies. Wolfgang had lost interest in Gwen's fingers and was chattering softly with all the human-dialogue going around. Budgies liked human noises.

"They like people talking," said Merlin, "and Mozart." His voice wavered uncertainly on the last word, and he quickly snapped his mouth shut.

Will was in the process of pushing Merlin's suitcase towards the door. He was dragging it along the floor because one of the wheels was a bit broken and didn't really work on carpet.

"Merlin, your stuff sucks," Will called from the doorway, and kicked Merlin's suitcase for emphasis.

Merlin huffed with laughter, and Lance clapped him on the back. Then Merlin decided to screw everything and gave Lance a quick hug, budgie seed mix and all. Lance hugged him back with his free arm, crushing Merlin's breath from his lungs.

"Going to miss your face around here," said Lance.

"Yeah," said Merlin.

"Don't forget us when you're famous."

Merlin laughed into Lance's shoulder, then stepped back. Out in the corridor, Will shouted. "Hurry up you two! I'm sick of pushing this damn button!"

"Hold your horses!" said Lance, striding out of Merlin's flat. "Are you sure the lift can carry all of us?"

"Are you insulting Merlin's lift?" came Will's voice, and Merlin snorted with laughter, glancing around his apartment for the last time. He had told Lance and Gwen they would be back soon, but, in all honesty, Merlin didn't know whether he would have the courage to come back once he'd gone. Only time would tell, he supposed.

There was the sound of the lift doors closing, and Merlin took a few steps towards his piano.  _His piano._ His hand hovered over the covers, wondering if there was enough time to playing something before he left, something for the walls to remember him by when he was gone. Something-

"Oh Merlin," said Gwen, and Merlin turned around, wiping moisture from his eyes.

"Oh," he said, a little blankly, "thought you'd gone down."

"The lift was a bit cramped," she said, but Merlin knew that wasn't true. A moment passed in silence. Then Gwen opened her arms, "Oh  _Merlin._ "

Merlin let himself be hugged, breathing in Gwen's perfume as she rubbed circles on his back. He couldn't stop the tears; they streaked down his face, and Merlin could taste the salt. He shuddered and hugged tighter.

"I'm getting your hair wet," he said apologetically. Then: "I'll miss you so much. I'll miss-" The hiccup stole the last words from his mouth, and Merlin bit his tongue, hard.

"No," said Gwen, soothingly. "You'll be too busy having fun to miss us. You'll be awesome and fantastic, and then, before you know it, you'll be on the plane back home. You probably won't even want to leave!"

Merlin stared at the floor, his bag strap digging into his shoulder.

"I'll miss you, Gwen," said Merlin, giving her one last squeeze. Then they stepped apart. Gwen produced a tissue from out of nowhere and Merlin took it gratefully. Will would be immensely awkward if he caught Merlin crying. Again.

"Come on," Gwen said, tugging on Merlin's arm. "You really don't want to miss your flight."

Merlin snorted, unable to stop the smile.

"Yeah, I – Just wait a second. There's just something I've got to do."

"I'll get the lift, yeah?" said Gwen, and Merlin nodded, grateful for the distance. He waited until Gwen was out of the room, before unzipping his messenger bag. He hesitated for a long moment. Then he pulled Arthur Plushie from where it was nestled beside his water bottle. Merlin hugged the Plushie tight. He closed his eyes and counted to ten.

"The lift is here!" Gwen called from the corridor.

Merlin jumped.

"Just a moment!"

Looking at Arthur Plushie one last time, he placed it gently on top of the piano.

Merlin zipped his bag closed, took a deep breath and plastered a smile on his face. He walked out of the apartment without a backwards glance.

 

:i:

Their flight stopped in Singapore before transferring to London Heathrow. Merlin had never been in a place with so much noise and so many people, all walking quickly with their tickets in hand and directions in mind. It was overwhelming and exciting. If Will hadn't had a tidy list of terminals and numbers written down on a piece of paper, Merlin would have been hopelessly lost.

The plane rides themselves were torture. Merlin tried not to think about Arthur, Arthur's face when he confided his fear of flying that afternoon,  _ArthurArthurArthur._  It was claustrophobic inside the plane, the air tasting stale and too cold with air conditioning. Merlin actually passed out on takeoff when there was simply no  _air_ to breathe, no matter how desperately he tried to draw breath. But other than that incident (in which Will had made a huge unnecessary panic and now the entire cabin was treating Merlin like he was going to die any minute) everything went smoothly enough.

Merlin must have used half his inhaler by the third hour.

"Hey," said Will, nudging him with an elbow, "They have the  _Prestige_ on movies. Have you watched it?"

Merlin shook his head, a little preoccupied with his breathing routine.

"Maybe you should," said Will, turning in his seat. "Might help you take your mind off things."

"I wish I had sleeping pills," said Merlin, rubbing his face with a hand, "I just want to zonk out."

"Still feeling sick?"

Merlin nodded.

"What about food? Or water?"

Merlin thought about it for a moment. Maybe it would be nice to stretch his legs.

"'Kay," he said, unclipping his seatbelt and dumping the pillow he had been playing with onto his seat. "Do you want anything?"

"Coke," said Will, grinning. "Cheers."

Merlin rolled his eyes, and made his way carefully down the narrow aisle. He made his way to the back of the plane where there was a partition curtain. He knocked on the plastic wall tentatively. A moment later, a flight attendant pulled the curtain aside, smiling.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, and Merlin marvelled for a moment. She looked completely at ease, hair slicked back in a immaculate bun. How was she not half falling over?

"Erm," he said. "I was wondering if I could possibly have – maybe water? And a coke, please. For my friend."

"Certainly, sir," she said and turned to the large metal trolley that had delivered the drinks before. She poured Merlin two glasses, and Merlin took them with a grateful smile. He spotted clear cups of red jelly on a side tray and his stomach grumbled wistfully Merlin glanced at his hands, both full with cups, and regretfully made his way back to his seat.

Will drained the coke in one gulp. Merlin sipped his, trying to make it last. He felt a little better after the water, but still couldn't shake the suffocating feeling that wasn't so much a constriction but a  _lack of air_. He put on his earphones and pulled the music from his bag, music that Cara had sent to him. He had signed the contract without much thought; he'd been so eager to get it done and over with. To escape.

 _RACHMANINOV PIANO CONCERTOS_ said the cover in serif black. Three thousand feet above the ocean, Merlin flipped to the appropriate page, turned on his iPod, and tried to lose himself in music.

_Heathrow Airport, London, United Kingdom._

When they arrived at Heathrow, Merlin was so glad to get off the stupid plane he almost tripped on the sloping ramp. If he had then he'd have introduced himself to England by face-planting in its soil, but thankfully, Will managed to pull him upright at the last minute, and no necks or fingers were broken.

Merlin was just happy to be on the ground again. Proper ground, not ground that wavered every so often with turbulence.

"Come on!" said Will, hefting his violins, boththe electric and the wooden one, his back pack, and Merlin's messenger bag over his shoulders. Merlin was struggling to dump the two suitcases onto a trolley, and he stubbed his toe on the wheel.

"Ow!" he said, hopping on one foot. "Will, shut up! Everyone is staring."

" _Hurry up!"_ said Will, and Merlin finally manage to heave both suitcases onto the trolley and straightened up. He took his bag from Will, who was bouncing up and down, eyes glued to the large screen overhead, which was a only a mess of tiny font and numbers to Merlin.

"Right," he said. "This way!"

Merlin took three puffs from his inhaler, pocketed it, and hurried to keep up.

When they finally passed the arrivals gate, the sheer size of the building made Merlin stop in his tracks. There were people everywhere, businessmen in suits and families with children hanging off their arms. There were solemn-looking chauffeurs holding up placards with names on them. Will gave Merlin a sharp push.

"Look!" he said, pointing. "EMRYS & Co. Fuck that, why am I  _Co.?"_

"You're clearly not important enough," said Merlin, yawning. "But yay. Car. I'm dying to sleep."

He followed Will over to a man who was indeed holding a large white card with "EMRYS & CO." written on it in bold font. The man eyed them both critically, but clearly decided that Merlin was the more respectable of the two. Will's hair had managed to defy the twenty two hours of air-plane oppression and stay defiantly pointy. Merlin wasn't sure that he looked much better though.

"Merlin Emrys?" the man asked. Merlin nodded.

"Ms. Cara Lake is waiting for you at  _The Milestone_ ," he said with a nod. "She's been expecting you. Shall we…?"

"Is she there right now?" asked Merlin, a little taken a back when the man – his tag said _Simon_ – deftly took Merlin's luggage trolley from him and led them down the arrival's walk way and out the large glass doors. Will was looking mightily put out.

"I believe so," said Simon. He led them to a car – black and sleek looking, which reminded Merlin uncomfortably of Arthur's car for some reason – and opened the door for them.

"Those can go in the trunk, sir," he said to Will.

"No," said Will, holding his violin cases tightly. "They're coming in the car."

Simon's eyebrow twitched.

"Very well."

Merlin sighed and poked Will hard in the shoulder. Will glared at him, then stuck out his tongue as he slid into the back seat next to Merlin, stuffing the violin cases on the floor.

"That cannot be comfortable," said Merlin, checking that his passport and everything important was safely in his bag. He had a brief moment of panic when he couldn't find Arthur Plushie anywhere. He had wondered if he'd left him on the plane, but then he realised Arthur Plushie was back in his flat in Sydney.

Simon finished loading their suitcases into the back of the car and closed the trunk. He slid into the driver's seat and a moment later, they were pulling away from the airport entrance, the people silhouettes through the tinted windows.

"How long 'til we get there?" said Merlin, who was jet-lagged like hell and not sure whether it was night, day or next week. He hadn't adjusted his watch yet – unlike Will who had been changing his every few hours.

"Approximately thirty minutes, sir. Lunchtime traffic."

"Oh, good," said Merlin, settling back into the leather seat. "Wake me up when we're there, please."

Will chucked his coat at Merlin's head.

"Here. Pillow," he said. Merlin smiled.

 

> _Merlin. You can't just –_
> 
> _Look, I'm sorry for swearing at you. Let's just talk this over. Call me back when you fe- Call me back in the next two days, there is a lot of repertoire for us to run through._
> 
> _Right._
> 
> \- beep.

Merlin had never felt so out of depth in his whole life – not even with Arthur. They were dropped off at the entrance of the hotel, with promises that their luggage would be brought up to their room by the service. Will was still clutching his violin cases, and they had been led through the magnificent lobby and into a lounge just as extravagantly decked out as the reception.

Merlin's eyes felt like they were going to drop out of his head as he took in the elaborate décor, heavy curtains and ornate furniture. There were so many details to take in, and he almost missed the figure sitting by the window.

" _Merlin_ ," she said, standing up. The waiter or helper or – Merlin really didn't know what to call him – bowed himself out of the lounge, closing the double doors behind him. Cara smiled and gestured towards one of the high-backed chairs, but Merlin was still too stunned to move.

"We're not staying here, are we?" he asked, turning in a half circle, "Because I really, really can't afford-"

"It's all been paid for," said Cara, waving a hand. "You happen to have a very wealthy patron. Hmm, coffee?"

"No, thank you," said Merlin, just as Will said, "Fuck yes."

"Will!" hissed Merlin.

Merlin took the seat gingerly, aware that the leather of the seats probably cost more than everything he owned. Will had no such qualms, and dropped his cases onto a chaise longue, then sprawled himself beside Merlin.

Cara wasn't in her usual suit. Instead, she was wearing a red dress; it was silky,clung to her and pooled on the floor in an artistic sort of way. Merlin wondered if she was cold, the dress didn't look like it would hold up against much at all. Her long hair curled past her shoulders, pinned back with something that sparkled in the dim light of the lounge. She sat back down in her seat, dress rustling.

"Well, you must be hungry after that flight," she said, "Perhaps afternoon tea? Or do you want lunch?"

"I just want to collapse and sleep," admitted Merlin honestly, and Cara laughed. Merlin noticed she was always smiling; it was a red curve that only changed in degrees. For some reason, it made Merlin a little nervous, and he shifted in his seat.

"I won't keep you then. You have a day to get used to the London weather," said Cara, taking a sip of her coffee. "Tomorrow, sleep or have a look around Kensington. Hyde park is lovely in Autumn. I want you bright-eyed and busy-tailed for Monday. You'll be meeting with the orchestra for your first rehearsal."

Merlin wondered if was dreaming. Something must have shown on his face because Cara said, in what was meant to be a reassuring manner, "Don't be too nervous. They've heard magnificent things about you."

"Are we – is there anywhere I could practice before Monday?" asked Merlin, fingers twitching against his lap.

"I believe there is a piano in one of the lounges. Something can be arranged; I'm sure the patrons won't mind."

Merlin swallowed, imaging himself trying to practice under the scrutiny of people probably owned half of England – if the furnishings in this room were anything to go by.

"Oh," he said, the uncertainty clear in his voice. "That's- that would be great."

"You're not the only guest artist playing with the orchestra as I'm sure you know," said Cara, passing Merlin sheaf of papers, "But you're expected to be there straight after lunch, at ten past one. Do  _not_ be late. Simon will pick you up from here at quarter to, so make sure you  _are_ here at that time."

Merlin nodded.

Cara turned to Will, something close to doubt crossing her features. But then it smoothed out into her customary smile once more.

"You'll need to be there by eight in the morning when the orchestra begins rehearsing," she said.

"Eight. Are you kidding me?" said Will, flopping back with a groan. Merlin winced when Cara looked decidedly offended.

"If you're not prepared to go, then I can assure that you will not be missed. Emrys has spoken highly of you, and that is the only reason-"

"Will's going to be there," interrupted Merlin before Will started swearing again, "I'll…set an alarm clock and everything."

Cara smiled at him.

"I look forward to hearing you," she said, draining her coffee and setting it on its saucer with a small  _chink_ of china., "Rest up."

With a last smile, Cara Lake swept from the room.

> _Merlin, this is juvenile. Answer your phone. This is as much you as it is me. Just -_
> 
> \- beep.

 

 

_Darling Point, Sydney, Australia._

Merlin had been absent for a week. It drove Arthur absolutely  _crazy._  He'd find himself waking up in the middle of the night because he thought someone was playing the piano upstairs. When he went up to the studio and flicked on the lights, however, no one was there.

_Merlin had kissed him._

The very memory of it opened an whole  _host_  of feelings that Arthur didn't want to examine, because if he looked at them too closely, he would never be able to shut them away again. He didn't want to look at them; they were too raw, too strange,  _too vivid_.

Merlin was too vivid.

When he played the violin, he found it hard to concentrate because every note threatened to cause emotions to spill out, irrational and unwritten on the score. So Arthur dealt with it the way he always threw himself into work. Morgana blatantly disapproved, slamming a fist on top of the piano after Arthur shouted at her for not following his cues.

"For heaven's sake," she said, almost ripping a page as she turned it, "you aren't giving me any cues! You're just changing right through here. I can't anticipate everything, Arthur!"

"It's not right," said Arthur, gritting his teeth. "It doesn't feel right. Is it the tempo?"

Morgana sighed, running her fingers through her hair. She made a note of something with her pencil.

"You've just – you play a lot differently than you used to," she said, "Just let me adjust."

Arthur looked away.

"Why don't you just  _go see_ him, for heaven's sake?"

"And say what?" snapped Arthur. He swallowed, trying to will the ache in his chest away., "Look, he just needs time."

Morgana snorted.

" _He_  needs time?"

"Drop it, Morgana," Arthur said sharply. He turned back to his music, a particularly difficult passage that made him falter three bars prior, just from anticipation. He was better than this. He had been  _better._ Arthur tucked the violin beneath his chin and, for an hour, wiped Merlin from his mind. If Merlin wanted to speak to him, he would come.

Wouldn't he?

If Merlin had thought rehearsals and recitals with Arthur were daunting, it was nothing – _nothing –_ compared to being introduced to the London Philharmonic Orchestra. Even though it was his third (and last) dress rehearsal, the unfamiliar faces and professionalism made him feel very small. It wasn't that the players weren't  _nice_ nor the conductor particularly nasty – it was the fact that they were all much older and much better than Merlin was and… well.

His first impression hadn't been particularly good, he thought. Completely overwhelmed by the size of the stage and orchestra, Merlin had stood mute beside Cara as she introduced him as the "greatest pianist of this century, ladies and gentlemen!" The conductor – a Russian-born man with a sharp handsome face named Alvarr – had given Merlin an appraising look and then winked. Somehow, that had only made Merlin more nervous.

Will blended in like he always did – which is to say,  _not at all_.

But he did better than Merlin, who stumbled through the beginning solo out of sheer nerves and cold fingers, began improvising as he went and somehow missed the next cue from Alvarr.

"Look, lad," the conductor had said, taking Merlin aside, "I don't give a flying fuck what is up your arse, but from the recordings Cara sent me, you are, at the very least, twice as good as the shit you gave me this afternoon."

Merlin spluttered. "I'm sorry! I-"

"Don't want to hear it," said Alvarr, whacking Merlin upside the head with his baton. "I want you to go from the first theme, right now, without the orchestra. And-" Alvarr snatched Merlin's music, slapping it shut and closing the music stand all in one swift movement. "- don't bother with this. You're clearly better off without it."

"He's only had that for a few days!" Cara protested from her seat high up in one of the private boxes.

"Stop meddling, woman!" Alvarr shouted back, good-naturedly, and dropped the heavy album onto the floor. Merlin's assigned page turner looked a little put-out.

Alvarr clapped his hands twice, and the quiet conversation died down.

"Right-o. Mr. Emrys is going to start playing four bars before tutti. Keep quite and follow along, folks –  _celli,_ more swell when theme B enters, yes, yes? Right. When you're ready, Emrys."

Merlin felt the urge to giggle, but stamped on the urge when Alvarr gave him a mock-stern look. He stared into the piano for a long moment, before placing his hands on the keyboard. His reflection stared back at him. He could remember the feeling, the moment where he always abandoned music and went with what  _felt right._ And really, if he had been given permission –

"Sometime today, Emrys," said Alvarr, and there were a few titters amongst the violins.

Merlin squared his shoulders, closed his eyes.  _Breathe._ The music went straight from his heart to the piano.

 

> _Merlin? I'd-_
> 
> _Look we obviously need to talk. Sort things out. The recital is in less than a month and Morgana is being absolutely – alright, that isn't the point, but. We need to talk about what happened. I need to talk to you._
> 
> _Call me back, alright?_
> 
> \- beep.
> 
>  

_Hyde Park, London, United Kingdom_.

 

"This all feels a bit…" Will waved his arms around. They were in the middle of Hyde Park, the late autumn wind biting their noses and the tips of Merlin's ears. Will's hair was less spiky today, after the dressing down Cara had given him about it. It hadn't lost its rebellious spirit though, which was good to see.

"Surreal?" suggested Merlin, tucking his hands into his pockets.

"Yeah, I guess," said Will. "I mean I'd never had thought… you know…  _London_."

"Me either," said Merlin, leaning back to look at the clouds. There were more clouds here than Australia – patches of sky floated past like photo negatives. Merlin nearly walked into a park bench, eyes fixed on the sky.

"What are you going to do after?" asked Will, yanking Merlin back to the middle of the path, "Still going to teach kindergartners?"

Merlin didn't want to say  _what do you mean, after?_

"Maybe. Cara said, depending on my reception, she might be able to put me on a solo recital. That might be big and exciting."

Will laughed, punching Merlin on the shoulder.

"God, promise me you won't be an arse once you're famous."

"Will!" Merlin protested, rubbing his arm. "Stop being abusive."

"Oh, you girl-"

"Abusive! Technically, if you break my arm, Cara can sue you. Or something."

Will shuddered, kicking at a loose stone.

"That woman gives me the heebie-jeebies," he said, comically crossing his eyes. "But she did book us into a fucking palace to live in, so no complaints there."

"Yeah," said Merlin absently. "No."

He stopped in the middle of the path, taking time to watch pair of ducks fly into the lake. The splash they made were soaked up by the grass, like ripples of fourths in Debussy.

"Big night tomorrow," said Will, glancing at Merlin sidelong. "You nervous?"

Merlin laughed as one of the ducks quacked angrily, chasing the other around. It bit the other's tail feathers.

"I don't get nervous," he said, still laughing. Then his brain caught up with his mouth, and Merlin froze, blinking in the afternoon sun.  _I don't get nervous,_ Mer _lin. Idiot. Shut up. Honestly, how manytimeshaveidon't-_

"Oi," said Will, and Merlin was snapped back to the present when Will shook him roughly by the arm, "Hey. Jesus, you just zoned out." Will was squinting at him, eyes narrowed. "Are you okay? Do you need your inhaler? Do you  _have_ your inhaler?"

"I'm fine," said Merlin, trying to bat Will's hand away. Will tightened his hold for the briefest moment before letting his hand fall back to his side.

"Sorry," Merlin said again, trying to distract him. "Just thought of something."

"So you  _are_ nervous."

Merlin poked Will in the chest.

"If this is reverse psychology you're trying out, it's not working."

Will smirked, slinging an arm around Merlin's shoulders and pulling them both back onto the path.

"Come on; let's go back to the hotel. Wouldn't want to miss dinner, right?"

Merlin snorted, but the thought of food made his stomach grumble. He really was quite hungry. And tired – his legs were a bit sore from all the walking, and he felt out of breath, even though there was clearly lots of oxygen around here. Merlin stared up into the canopy of trees, their leaves colourful as dropped crayons, reds and yellows blending into the late afternoon sunshine. They would be gone by Christmas.

"What are you going to do, after?" Merlin asked abruptly.

Will shrugged.

"I might stay on, if they let me," he said. "The orchestra," he added for clarification. Merlin's eyes widened.

"But I thought you wanted to continue with the whole jazz/rock thing-" said Merlin, stunned.

"Well, it's been fucking awesome playing with them," said Will. "Never realised, y'know?"

"Yeah," said Merlin, even though he didn't really know what Will was talking about. If Will planned to stay in England, though… then maybe… maybe-

"Don't look so worried," said Will. "God, you never used to be so stressed out all the time."

"I'm not stressed out," said Merlin, though there was no real heat behind his voice. "Just thinking."

"You think too much these days," said Will. "Just do what feels right."

They passed out of the Albion gate, and Will hailed a taxi. Merlin looked back down the path to where the lake was just visible around the trees. But the ducks had gone.

_Five hours earlier._

_Darling Point, Sydney, Australia._

"Arthur Pendragon, you will open this door  _right now_."

Arthur groaned and tried to lift his head from the table. It was stuck, somehow – or too heavy to even contemplate moving. The doorbell rang three times in quick succession, and Morgana thumped on the wood. She was going to make a bloody dent in the paint. Was his doorbell always that shrill? God, Arthur did not want to deal with his sister right now.

"Open the fucking door!" the Sister was yelling. "Or I'm calling Tristan. He has a handgun and I'll blow the lock apart, if you don't open the door  _now."_

Cursing loudly, Arthur managed to leaver himself out of the chair he had fallen asleep in last night. He knocked over a bottle of whiskey – an empty bottle - when he stood up.  _So that's why his head was dying._ He made his way to the front door, the room too bright and his hangover too painful to cope with. After several attempts, he slid the lock back and opened the door.

He was immediately bowled over by Morgana and her high heels when she stormed into the room, slamming the door behind her.

"Arth- Oh my fucking lord, you're  _drunk,_  aren't you?"

"No," said Arthur, glaring at her from where he had fallen over. Morgana had sharp elbows. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Morgana pulled him to his feet and before Arthur was fully aware of what was happening, he had been pushed into his own shower and there was icy water blasting in his face. He did not scream.

"Fuck!" he screamed, but Morgana held him under for at least half an hour before turning off the shower. Arthur spat out a mouthful of water, shivering. "What the fuck?"

There went his non-swearing tally. Out the window. Morgana ruined absolutely _everything._

"I've had enough of this," said Morgana, frog- marching him back to his kitchen. Arthur was trying to dry his hair at the same time. It wasn't really working – his shirt was  _soaked,_ too. "It's time you pulled your head out of your arse because if you don't, you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

Arthur dropped his face into his hand, the better to keep the sunlight out of his eyes.

" _What_ ," he said, "are you talking about?"

"What am I- Have you even  _tried tracking him down?_ "

Arthur didn't look up.

"Morgana,it's too early for one of your tantrums. Will you just leave me-"

Morgana slapped him upside the head. Arthur winced.

"I was at  _La Grande Echelle_  last night," she said, "and Merlin was gone."

Arthur felt the world go cold.

It was a curious sensation – senses narrowing down to the words  _Merlin_ and  _gone._

"What?" he asked, blankly.

"Merlin. Wasn't. There," said Morgana, punctuating each word with a tap of her finger on the breakfast bar, "I asked around, and Morgause, the sous-chef, tells me he left more than a week ago for London."

Arthur stared at her, wondering if he was still dreaming, if this were some alcohol-induced nightmare.

" _What_?" he said again, shaking his head. "London?"

"Jesus Christ, Arthur!  _Wake up_!" snapped Morgana. "I didn't drive all the way here to tell you just so you can fall into catatonia. Stop being so bloody repressed and  _go after him."_

"But I can't," Arthur started, and Morgana slapped him again.

"Don't even think of using your father as an excuse, you know as well as I do that he can't make you do anything. You're just being a fucking coward-"

"Morgana!" Arthur shouted. "It's London! Which incidentally is on the other side of the world!  _I can't._ "

He ran a hand over his face, guilt and rage at his own weakness threatening to choke him. But the mere thought of flying was too sickening to think about, and Arthur furiously stamped down on the memories that were threatening to burst his mental barriers.

" _I can't_ ," he repeated, voice barely a whisper.

Morgana's expression softened, and she laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Arthur," she said calmly, "how long are you going to let yourself be trapped here?"

"It's not like I've chosen-" Arthur began, hurt and anger making his voice rise once more, but Morgana silenced him with a look.

"No," she said, "you haven't chosen this. But you haven't chosen  _anything."_

Arthur stared blankly at his hands.

"He's in London," said Arthur after a long moment of silence.

"He's been with the Philharmonic," said Morgana. "I think the concert is tomorrow."

 _It'd be an adventure,_ Merlin had said. God, he had looked so happy then. Why hadn't Arthur said anything? Why hadn't he acted? Merlin would have still been here-

The clock in the living room ticked out the seconds. Arthur counted ten before speaking, the sickening sensation in his stomach lessening not one notch.  _Merlin._

"When's the next flight out?"

 

:i:

 

_Royal Albert Hall, London, United Kingdom._

Merlin had his own dressing room. Again. All it all, it was very like the dressing room back home, except it was a little larger, the light bulbs too bright around the mirrors that magnified the room and its occupants infinitely. The water was too cold. Merlin had fished out all the ice cubes, crunched on them and then drained three glasses of water. He hadn't felt any better.

"I think I'm going to throw up," said Merlin, tugging at his collar. He couldn't breathe, there was no  _air._ Frantically, he took a pull of his inhaler, holding it, and then taking another pull. Will clapped him on the back.

"You'll blow them away," he said, voice a little too loud and a little too confident.

Merlin knew he was nervous too. For once, his hair wasn't in crazy gelled spikes, but combed back from his forehead. He was wearing a black suit and white shirt that was the uniform of orchestras everywhere.

"Is it weird having normal hair?" asked Merlin, grinning. It felt strange on his face, like the smile had been painted on. His hands were tingling with electricity.

"Shut up," said Will, running a hand through said hair.

Alvarr knocked on the door and poked his head around.

"Ah, Emrys. Break a leg."

Merlin nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Someone will come get you when it's time," he said. "You-" he pointed one finger at Will, "out."

"Yessir," said Will, rolling his eyes. But he retrieved his violin from Merlin's dressing room table, gave Merlin one last pat on the shoulder, and was out the door. Alvarr stepped inside.

"How are you feeling?"

"Alright," said Merlin. He poured himself another glass of water, just so he had something to do. "Um."

"It was… unconventional for Cara to bring someone up like this," said the conductor, spinning his baton between his fingers like a sword. "But I must say…I have been very impressed. Astounded, even."

"Thank you, sir," said Merlin, tracing the condensation on his glass.

"You won't disappoint me," said Alvarr, giving Merlin one of his smiles – it was more of a smirk, really. "See you after Brahms," he said. Then in a flurry of coat-tails, the conductor was gone, leaving Merlin alone in his dressing room.

Merlin turned back to his the jug of water, the solitary slice of lemon floating near the bottom. In the mirror, a thousand Merlins stared back.

 

 

_Sydney International Airport, Sydney, Australia._

"Morgana."

"What? Arthur, your plane leaves in ten minutes! Where are you?"

Arthur was gripping his cellphone so hard, the plastic was creaking. He closed his eyes, trying to stop the trembling in his hands. Around him, people moved past, each intent on their own destinations. The loud speakers announced something. There was the sound of a bell going  _ping-pong._ But Arthur couldn't hear any of it.

"I can't. Morgana,  _I can't_."

He heard a sigh on the other end of the line and wanted to throw his phone across the floor.

"Arthur. I know how hard this must be for-"

"No you don't," Arthur managed to choke out. "You have no idea. "

"I can see Merlin means to you," said Morgana, unrelenting. "And I know how much you hate this, but how much more you'll hate yourself if you just let him fly off somewhere, Arthur."

"I ripped up my ticket," Arthur confessed, staring at the torn pieces of card. He had ripped his plane tickets in a fit of blind fear and panic. One part of him had been trying to stop the car whilst the other part kept thinking  _merlinmerlinmerlin as if it were on loop._ He felt thin as ice, brittle, as if one word could shatter him. The lights of the departure hall was too bright, too white.

"You can get another one. Arthur, listen to me… Jesus Christ, fucking truck driver!"

Arthur heard the sharp sound of a horn blasting, and he realised Morgana was driving.

She was driving and talking on her cellphone.

"Morgana!" Arthur shouted, making several people turn around. "Stop. You can't drive and talk on the phone!"

"Holy Mother of Jesus," snapped Morgana, "I really don't give a fuck about-"

"Stop. Pull over," said Arthur. "Pull over right now."

"Fuck you, Arthur Pendragon, just-"

_The sky is blue._

"Just pull over. I'm going to buy another ticket and – I-"

_It's nearly winter._

Arthur hung up before he could change his mind. Shouldering his bag – he had been in too much of a rush to pack a suitcase- he headed towards the nearest information desk.

_Royal Albert Hall, London, United Kingdom._

"Mr. Emrys?"

Merlin turned, where he had been studying his music score. One of the stage crew was at the door, microphone taped to her collar, clip board in hand. Merlin took one pull of his inhaler, feeling it settle his breathing a little, and slipped the medication in his pocket. He ran his finger through his hair, which was a little messy from the same movement over the last hour or so, and stood up.

He gave a brief smile, which she didn't return. She only stepped back and held the door open for him. Merlin followed her down not-quite familiar hallways and through the backstage entrance which led straight into the wings of the stage. He could hear the last strands of Brahms now, the deep rumble of cellos vibrating through the floor.

And then the audience was clapping, the sound muffled by the walls. Merlin was directed to the entrance from which he would walk on. It was a small door and rather unremarkable. Merlin stared at it, trying to will the beating of his heart back to normal, back to  _Andante_. It would be alright.

_I never get nervous._

Merlin pressed the heel of one hand to his eyes, resolutely planning back his piano through his head, blasting the melody to drown out all thoughts – he mustn't lose his concentration now-

_Merlin, focus._

"Fuck," said Merlin as the applause died down. There was a moment's pause, then someone said –"You're on, Emrys."

The door was opened, and then Merlin was walking onto the stage. He saw Alvarr beaming at him. Alvarr stepped down from the conductor's podium, grasping Merlin's hand to shake as the audience burst into applause once more. Merlin felt flushed, breathless and yet frozen at the same time. The lights were bright on his face, but the auditorium wasn't completely blacked out. He could see a sea of unfamiliar faces, jewellery flashing in the dim light, all gazing up at him. Before, Arthur had always been the focus, Merlin had just –

He wasn't going to think about Arthur now.

Merlin made settled himself in front of the piano, pulling back his sleeves. He wasn't wearing a tie; not even Cara Lake could make him wear a tie. His reflection stared back at him, broken by the golden lettering.  _Steinway & Sons. _Merlin let out a breath, running one hand over the smooth polish of the piano, feeling her tremble with excitement. People changed. He'd changed. But music was a constant.

Merlin took a deep breath, tried to fill his lungs, fill his chest, fill his  _heart._ He raised an eyebrow at Alvarr, who winked. Then Merlin began to play.

/EMBED RACHMANINOV #2 w/ ORCHESTRA

The music was haunting. But, most of all, it was  _free._ Merlin could feel the instruments like extensions of his own body, pulling and pulling in unison, the piano tugging the music along. It was the exhilaration of hearing the notes high above everything else, interwoven, folded in.

For the duration of the movement, there were no thoughts in his head. Only music, playing out in his mind as if his unconsciousness were a blank sheet and the notes were emotions being written down better than any words could describe.

The minor sevenths made his heart ache, the perfect cadences a sigh of content. Merlin let it all take him over, going not by score, but what he had heard, what he was  _hearing._ His fingers moved of their own accord, and he watched them with a deliberate sense of detachment. The melody he tore out so it could be heard at the back of the hall, tore out so it wouldn't get lost because he  _loved it so,_ and there was no sense in not falling in love.

Merlin felt faint with it.

At one point, Merlin thought the world had gone dark with the lack of air. Between one note and the next, he gasped, desperately, trying to regain the rhythm. It came back, reluctantly, and Merlin played on, and on, and on –

Gaius had lied. Music stood out of time, it held time still in its palms…

Until suddenly, it was the end.

The silence was so loud, it froze the echoes in amber. Then the audience exploded in applause, and Merlin startled, turning his head to stare out over the hall. There were people on their feet, hands moving in blurs. It was like the sound of wind through the trees in a storm – and Merlin simply sat. His hands were hot from playing, fingertips numb. It felt like he had poured all his emotions out, and there was nothing left except something raw and unhidden-

And then Alvarr was pulling him up. Merlin stumbled a little-

"Bow, lad! Give them a bow!"

Merlin bowed. When he straightened, Alvarr made him bow again, and Merlin couldn't help smiling, the grin breaking out across his face. Dimply, he heard Will shout, "Yeah! Merlin!" above the clapping, and he almost laughed, feeling breathless and dizzy.

He was in  _London._ This was a dream coming true – even though it hadn't been Merlin's dream to begin with _._ He wondered if Gaius would be proud of him.

The applause carried him all the way back to his dressing room.

 

:i:

_Heathrow Airport, London, United Kingdom._

Arthur didn't know how he survived.

The consecutive sleeping pills, strong enough to knock out a horse, had probably helped. And the magazine, the one from months ago, crinkled and smudged with fingerprints, Merlin's face gazing across the page. Arthur had stared at it with all the concentration he could manage, and it had kept it sane. Barely.

When the plane had touched down at Heathrow the lights of London reflected in the small windows, something in Arthur seemed to collapse inwards. He stepped gratefully onto earth. Around him, people moved like fish in shoal, Arthur the only point of stillness in the wide, brightly-lit arrivals hall.

Merlin was here, somewhere.

 

:i:

_The Milestone Hotel, Kensington, London._

There was a knock on the door. Merlin pretended to be asleep, mind groggy and hazy from dreams. Will had been up since eight, making full use of the bar in their suite. He heard the door opening, the sound of murmuring voices drifting through the crack in the door. A moment later, there was the sound of footsteps, and Merlin's bedroom door opened a little.

"Merl?"

Merlin kept his eyes shut. Will opened the door further, the light from the lounge spilling into the blissful darkness and Merlin scrunched up his face.

"Oi. You're awake."

"I am  _now_ ," said Merlin into his pillow. He heard Will moving towards the bed and Merlin gripped his blankets tightly just in time to stop them being pulled away.

"Sleeeeeping," he protested, squinting at Will, "Tired."

"The Butler – how cool is it that we have a Butler, by the way?- said that Ms. Cara Lake is waiting for you in the  _Louis VII_  lounge."

Merlin sighed, then flailed for the bedside lamp. He sat up, rubbing his eyes to clear the sleep away.

"W'time is it?" he asked.

"Half past eleven," said Will. He sounded far too perky considering they had spent the entire night with the orchestra, drinking cocktails and whatnot until two in the morning. Merlin felt a little ill, actually.

"Do you know what she wants?" asked Merlin, reaching for the nearest piece of clothing – which was the discarded shirt from last night. He dressed haphazardly.

"Dunno," said Will through a mouthful of  _something,_ "Probably to congratulate you."

"Hmm," said Merlin, pulling on his shoes, "Where's my jacket?"

"By the door," Will said, leading the way into the main room of the suite. Merlin quickly washed his face in the bathroom, combing back his hair with fingers. He paused for a moment in front of the mirror. The Merlin who stared back didn't look very different from the Merlin back home – he traced the shadows beneath his eyes with a finger.

"Hurry up, mate!" called Will.

Merlin sighed and did as he was told.

The mere act of walking down one flight of stairs made Merlin pull in breaths like he had just run a mile. To be honest, Merlin had never run a mile before – his mother had absolutely banned any running in his childhood – so he didn't know what he would feel like after he'd run a mile. Probably very dead.

"Are you alright?" asked Will, and Merlin caught the worry in his tone as he gasped into his inhaler.

"Fine," said Merlin, between the pulls. "Just tired."

"You look kinda pale," Will insisted.

Merlin only shrugged and straightened his jacket. A lady in her mid-forties gave them both a critical once over, taking in Will's sneakers and Merlin's crumpled shirt. Then she stopped.

"I'm so sorry," she said, "but aren't you Merlin Emrys?"

Merlin blinked.

"Uh – yes?" His answer came out like more of a question.

Her face lit up into a surprised smile.

"Oh, my! I was at the concert last night! I must say you played magnificently – wait 'til my husband hears you're staying right here! Oh, good Lord."

"I- thank you?" said Merlin, smiling awkwardly.

Thankfully, Will stepped in.

"Sorry, Ma'am, but Mr. Emrys has an appointment,," he said, taking Merlin's elbow and firmly dragging him in the other direction.

"Of course. It was a pleasure to meet you," she said, offering a hand. Merlin just managed to shake it once before Will pushed him through a door.

"Oh, lordy," said Will in an over-exaggerated accent. "You'll be swamped with them next. Careful of the cougars, mate."

" _Will_!" said Merlin blushing. "You – just shut up."

They made their way past the main lobby and then down another corridor, and Merlin hoped Will knew where he was going. Cara was probably not someone who should be kept waiting…

"Merlin," she said as they entered the room. She was wearing a different dress: still red, but this time made of some stiff, shiny material which hooked over the shoulder. Her hair was done up, twisted into an elegant knot at the back of her head.

"Um… Hi," said Merlin.

"Sit down, sit down," Cara gestured. "I hear you haven't had lunch yet."

"No," said Merlin, "Been sleeping."

Cara quirked an eyebrow.

"It's good that you're resting now – because you have a concert this Saturday night."

"This Saturday?" exclaimed Merlin, shocked, "But I thought you said I wouldn't have another until-"

"Emrys," said Cara, leaning forwards, "Emrys, London is  _clamouring_ for you."

"I-"

"Trust me when I say this time tomorrow, every musical soul in England will know who you are." She sat back in her chair, her smile curving wider as she surveyed Merlin's reaction. Merlin stared at his knees for a moment. "I can't say I'm surprised – though you did create a sensation last night."

Merlin felt his face go hot, and he stared at his knees, wishing people would  _stop over-exaggerating._ This was all so big, so vast. Merlin wondered if he had gotten himself into something not quite under his control, when he agreed to sign the contract. The doubt was a niggling discomfort, and Cara's smile really didn't reassure him at all. Nevertheless, he smiled.

"Thank you," he said. "I'm very flattered. Um, if I'm playing this week-"

"Ah, yes," said Cara, suddenly all business. "It's an hour repertoire. You'll play the third Rachmaninov," she handed him a CD as well as a heavy score, "as well as the Chopin listed  _here_. The others are your choice, though I need them by this afternoon for printing. Also, you'll need to sit for another photoshoot. – It should only take half an hour, and I'll have Simon pick you up at four. He'll take you to Westminster to pick up the suit."

Merlin looked incredulously at the music in his hands – granted, he had played through some of it with Arthur but- The thought of Arthur made his chest hurt, and he turned deliberately away, concentrating on Cara's words.

"A photoshoot?" he repeated, and, beside him Will made a snort of laughter. Merlin ignored him, "Can't you use the photo from that album Ar- I mean-"

Fuck, it seemed like Arthur would just not leave him alone.

"Merlin," said Cara, raising her eyebrows, "we are not selling you as a second-rate accompanist made virtuoso. Darling, you're going to be the newest prodigy. Young, obscure, dashingly handsome-"

Merlin's ears went red. He could feel them.

"But I don't want-"

"The world will fall in love with you," Cara finished as if Merlin hadn't interrupted. She stood up with a swish of skirts. "We have to fuel the fire while it is hot. London wants you and she wants you  _now._  Don't be late."

With that dramatic line, Cara Lake turned and glided out of the room.

"Oh my god," said Merlin faintly. He let his head flop back against the armchair. " _Oh my god._ "

"I told you so," said Will.

 

:i:

It was only a moment, a moment too long, too painful, with  _no air._

Then Merlin woke up, head on the shower door, the water still running –

He didn't tell Will.

:i:

 

It was one thing, getting to London. It was quite another trying to find someone  _in_ London.

Arthur didn't want to ring around every single hotel to ask for a Merlin Emrys, even though it was looking to be the best option right now. All he had to go on was the information Morgana had give him and a poster depicting the London Philharmonic orchestra and Merlin's name on the bottom. His hotel room was littered with newspapers and magazines. He'd read every article or snippet that mentioned  _Merlin._ But there was nothing about his whereabouts or his plans for a further debut. And according to Morgana, Merlin hadn't left Morgause with any additional information, no details about what he planned to do, when he planned to return.  _Nothing_.

His father hadn't called yet.

Then he saw him, just like that: a picture of Merlin leaning back against a glossy piano, printed on a long, narrow poster outside the Barbican centre. It was like being punched in the chest.

Arthur bought a ticket, then went back to his hotel room where he played his violin until the sun set over Hyde Park.

 

:i:

_Barbican Theatre, Silk Street, London._

Cara personally came to escort them to the concert hall. She was in a stunning cocktail dress, a deep purple that contrasted with her pale skin. Gold bracelets jangled at her wrists and she made Merlin introduce himself to seemingly hundreds of people, even before they reached the dressing rooms. Merlin had smiled for so long and nodded so much that he thought his neck was going be permanently injured.

Then he wondered when smiling had become a chore.

"You have some time," said Cara, opening a heavy wooden door that had  _Merlin Emrys_ emblazoned across a plaque. "About thirty minutes? Do you need anything?"

"No, thank you," said Merlin.

He took in the room, the mirrors, the lights – the baby grand in the corner as well as the music stands by the wall. There was an entire tray of goodness knows what, sitting on the dressing table, and Merlin dropped his bag on the nearest chair. Will took the other one and immediately began investigating the food.

Everything was going so fast.

Merlin counted his breaths, felt his chest expand and deflate, expand, deflate – pain- expand, deflate,  _repeat_. He stifled a yawn.

Cara frowned.

"You're not too tired, I hope?" she asked.

"No, no," Merlin lied. "Just…nervous, I guess."

She gave him a kiss on the cheek, stilling Merlin with surprise.

"You will  _shine._ "

Merlin managed a weak smile.

"These biscuits are good," said Will.

 

:i:

It was lonely, walking onto a stage by himself.

It felt like he was never going to reach the piano, a marooned instrument in the middle of the stage. With every step, Merlin tried to remember Cara's instructions: – Look confident, smile, do  _not_ stumble, those shoes fit perfectly.  _Stand and shine._

When he finally – finally – reached the piano, he placed a hand on it almost desperately. The familiar, cool touch of wood calmed him immediately, and Merlin took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He almost forgot to bow, remembering only when he realised that it wasn't raining. It was the sound of applause.

He smiled-  _look to the back of the audience, don't make eye contact -_ and set a white cloth on the side of the piano. Then he slid onto the stool, pushing it back and adjusting the height. The hall was a vast space of silence, the air a little cool. Merlin pulled in a breath, feeling it rattle past his throat.

God, the silence.

He played the first thing that came to mind, let the music well up inside him in a rush.

/embed LISZT CONSOLATION

He couldn't stop. Even when the first piece ended, Merlin paused only to take a quick puff from his inhaler before diving into the music a second time, the sound drowning out the applause that hadn't faded completely away. He let the piece come to him from memory, jigsaw puzzles of sounds he had heard, flashes of conversations and radio melodies. The music was desperate, it was an  _escape._ Merlin didn't count, didn't draw back when the music pushed. He just played on and on and on. He knew he was trying to do something impossible, to fill such large a space in so little time. But he  _didn't_  care.

There was a yearning inside him that couldn't be shut away, and Merlin played as if he was searching for something, one key modulating into another. Vaguely, he was aware that he was deviating from the programme, playing what wasn't there, just  _playing._

And then his lungs seemed to give out and even though he was going through the motions, trying to breathe, there was no oxygen filling his chest. Merlin almost stumbled through the last bars of Chopin, fingers moving from memory as he –  _nearly there, nearly-_

He lifted his hands from the keys, keeping the pedal down so that the notes could float, so that they wouldn't die before their time. As soon as he let it go, the applause swelled – as Merlin's vision swimmed before his eyes. He managed to fish his inhaler from his pocket and brought it to his mouth. Push,  _pull._ Exhale. Push,  _pull._ Ex-

Merlin coughed, unable to stop the sensation racking through his body. He was dimly aware that he applause had abated now, but he couldn't stop coughing. He grasped the cloth he had brought in, trying to stifle his coughing. Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will the pain to disappear.

Finally, it stopped. When Merlin opened his eyes again, he stared the kerchief in his hands – at the red that stained the white cotton.

_Blood._

Slowly, Merlin folded the cloth in half, then replaced it on top of the piano. There were only two pieces more to go. To more to go, and everything would be fine.

Merlin kept playing.

Looking back, if Merlin  _hadn't looked_ , nothing would have happened.

If Merlin hadn't been distracted by the movement, nothing would have happened. If he hadn't been playing Arthur's composition, if the melody hadn't been so twisted about his heart,  _nothing would have happened._

But, then again, inevitability. Perhaps it wasn't all his fault after all.

There was no knowing what possessed him. Maybe it was that he was searching, searching for something that the Chopin, the Brahms, the Rachmaninov couldn't replace, something that was gone. On impulse, Merlin had begun to play the first thing he could hear in his mind, its melody simple, sweet, and startlingly beautiful.

And that would have been alright.

He would have been happy with that. He would have been happy with six months and counting  _three four, three four time, Merlin. Count._ A year at the most.

Merlin would have been content, if he had not let his gaze wander over the audience. His heart almost stopped when he saw who was sitting there, face layered in shadow but still visible. He was sitting in the first row, close enough to the stage that the lights touched his face.

_Arthur._

Then:  _don't stop don'tstopdon'tstopdon'tstopneverstopgoingneverdon't-._

The end. It felt like relief.

Merlin gazed, unseeing, at his hands. The keys were so polished; he simply let his fingers fall from them. There was silence for three heartbeats. Then something swelled up, swelled  _out,_ people were standing on their feet, and Merlin couldn't see why they were clapping. He sat, gazing out across the hall, feeling his music disappear into the applause.

The sound of it crashed and reverberated into the stage, all around the auditorium like a rainstorm, falling.

 

:i:

Merlin wasn't brave enough to do an encore.

:i:

 

When Merlin got back to his dressing room, Arthur had somehow beat him to it. He was _right there,_ and he was neither a hallucination nor the echo of music inside Merlin's head. He was there in the flesh.

But that was impossible.

"You're in the way," said Merlin dully. Arthur stepped aside, and Merlin opened the door, not looking asArthur followed him in.

"Merlin-" he started, and his voice made Merlin jerk, hand coming up to cover his mouth. It was one thing to fall in love. Hearing the one you loved speak when you never expected to hear him again  _hurt._

"What are you doing here?" asked Merlin, not turning around.

"To talk," said Arthur, calmly. Then: "You played my piece."

"Shut up."

"You played-"

Merlin whirled around.

"I said,  _shut up._ "

Arthur was looking at him with wide eyes, hands raised, palms up in placation. And that only made Merlin angrier – what right did Arthur have to  _do this to him?_ Merlin had made the choice to free Arthur from the responsibility and now Arthur had taken that choice away. Or rather, Merlin wasn't sure if he could make the right decision, the second time around.

"I thought you couldn't fly," said Merlin very quietly.

Arthur's eyes never left his face.

"No, I couldn't," he answered. "But I had to."

"Well done," said Merlin. He felt hollowed out, as if Arthur had taken what little oxygen he had left. Gods, he looked exactly the same, even though the last few weeks felt like a lifetime.

"I came to see you," said Arthur, haltingly. "I- you weren't answering your phone and Morgana said you'd left."

"How did you get in?" asked Merlin, stuffing his blood-stained kerchief into his pocket. There wasn't much to pack away, he could be out of here in five minutes.

Arthur waved a hand.

"I know my way around the theatre staff," he said and smiled. but it was a strained smile; it did not reach his eyes. Merlin looked away.

"If that's all you have to say," said Merlin, starting for the door – but Arthur grabbed him by the arm, swinging him around to face him.

"No!" he said, almost shouting, and Merlin flinched at the volume of his voice. Arthur's grip lessened, but he didn't let go.

"Look, I'm sorry for whatever I said, or did or-"

"I don't care," lied Merlin.

"Why did you run all the way to London?" asked Arthur. He sounded a little hoarse, emotions etched in the tension of his shoulders, his eyes trying to pin Merlin still against the silence. "Did you- Goddammit, Merlin-"

And Merlin couldn't stop himself.

" _What do you want from me?_ " he shouted, jerking away from Arthur's grasp. "Just  _tell me_ what you want and then  _get lost_."

Arthur looked like Merlin had just slapped him in the face. But then the hurt expression hardened, as Merlin thought it would. It hardened into anger. It was better that Arthur felt angry – then he would just  _leave._

"You don't get to say that to me," said Arthur, voice tight, "You don't get to kiss me and just disappear."

Merlin raised an eyebrow, challenging.

"And why is that?" he asked, proud that his voice barely wavered. "Why can't I?"

Arthur fell into silence.

"Yeah," said Merlin. "That's what I thought."

"Why did you kiss me?" Arthur countered, taking a step forwards to match Merlin's step back.

"It doesn't matter," said Merlin.

"It mattered enough for you to come to London. Somewhere you thought I couldn't go – isn't that right?"

"I said it doesn't matter."

"Goddammit, Merlin; stop being so stubborn! I just want to talk."

Merlin laughed; the sound of it hurt his throat.

"No, Arthur. You don't know what you want."

Arthur stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief and barely-concealed hurt. Merlin stared at his own reflection in the mirror, because watching Arthur was breaking his heart.

"I flew all the way from Sydney," Arthur said after a long silence. "– Doesn't…doesn't that mean anything?  _Will you look at me!_ "

And it  _did_  mean something. It meant  _everything_  – the very thought of Arthur boarding a plane because of  _Merlin,_ because he cared enough to actually-

It made Merlin's heart expand painfully. Merlin wanted to cry at the possibility that Arthur could love him, the possibility that maybe, maybe-

But that was a future he couldn't take. It was a future number in months, in weeks, in _days._ And he couldn't do that to Arthur, because he loved him too much.  _I trust you'll make the right decision._

Time waited for no one. It wouldn't wait for Merlin.

No, it was for the best.

"Just come home," said Arthur, almost pleadingly. "Come back to Sydney with me. T-the recital is in barely a week-"

 _Oh, god._ Merlin clenched his fists, digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand.

"Is that what you want?" asked Merlin. "An accompanist?"

"No, that's not what I-"

"Arthur, just  _leave me a-"_

Merlin pressed his lips together, trying not to move, not to  _cry._ When he said nothing more, Arthur closed the difference between them in two strides and forcibly turned him around, locking his arms around Merlin's own so Merlin couldn't pull away. He could feel the rapid beating of Arthur's heart, see his eyes wide and blue.

"I love you," said Arthur.

Merlin stared up into his face. He traced Arthur's features with his eyes, committing them to memory. They were only inches apart.

" _I love you,"_ Arthur repeated, voice barely audible.

Time. Tempo.  _Wait._

"Just come home-"

Merlin closed his eyes.

The door to the dressing room opened suddenly, and Merlin's eyes snapped open. Cara Lake swept inside in a shimmer of silk. She stopped at the sight of Arthur, eyes narrowing.

"You're not authorised to be here," she said.

Reluctantly, Arthur let Merlin go, arms falling to his side.

"Emrys," she said, giving Merlin a sharp smile. "I thought we agreed on an Encore."

"I didn't- didn't feel well."

"Well, you have certain very important people to be introduced to, so come. I expected you in the gallery ten minutes ago."

"Cara, I really don't want to-"

"Nonsense," said Cara Lake, smile still there but it was dangerous now. "Come, they are _dying_ to meet you."

She looped her arm through his and led them both towards the door. Merlin pulled back, feeling Arthur's gaze burn the back of his neck.

"Can I just have a moment?" he asked.

Cara raised an eyebrow but nodded. She stayed right there, surveying the two of them, smile never wavering. Merlin felt sick to his stomach as he turned to Arthur.

"I'm sorry you had to travel all this way," Merlin said, trying and failing to keep his words even.  _A year. At most._ They choked, coming out, scraped his throat raw, "But I must – it's no."

Arthur only stared back at him, face going carefully, painfully blank. Cara laid her hand on Merlin's arm and led him firmly out of the dressing room. In the mirror, a thousand Merlins turned their backs.

 

:i:

The door closes behind him with a soft  _click_ ; the sound the ending of a book makes when you finished reading.

:i:


	12. CODA

:i:

_**Music is the medicine of the breaking heart.** _

\- Leigh Hunt

:i:

**C O D A**

:i:  
 

_Extract_

> __
> 
> … _after a stunning debut with the London Philharmonic Orchestra at Royal Albert Hall. Playing Rachmaninov's second concerto, Emrys charmed audience and critics with a spell binding performance. He later captivated a sold-out house at Barbican Theatre, where his performance including a personal arrangement of Rachmaninov's third concerto as well as an unnamed piece, rumoured to be his own composition. His style is non-conventional, defying modern technical playing and "precise" interpretations favoured by most virtuosi. Nevertheless, Emrys' extraordinary clarity and musicality is such that some hail him as the Lipatti of our generation. As Alvarr, conductor of the London Philharmonic comments, "I had never heard the piano play like this."_
> 
> _Edwin Fischer concurs, "At last we have a Chopin sans caprices and with the rubato to my liking….when Emrys plays, it is no longer the sound of the piano, but music in its purest form."_
> 
> _However, after three months of avid anticipation, the phenomenal Merlin Emrys seems to have vanished. His manager, Cara Lake, known for more for her fall-out with infamous critic Uther Pendragon, says Emrys has stepped off the international stage for the time being. Rumours of illness have been circulating especially after Lake cancelled Emrys' U.S.A tour-  
>   
> _

Article continues on page 2.  
 

:i:  
  
 

_5 months later._

 

As they said, the show must go on… and go on it did. 

It returned more or less to normal, to the point where Arthur could almost forget everything. He recorded a series with Morgana through a contract with Deutsche Grammophon (Uther had contacts everywhere) which was more success than Arthur cared for.

"I'm proud of you," said Uther, a rare smile on his face.

Arthur had raised his glass of champagne and smiled.

"Thank you, Father."

All it took for him to board a plane nowadays was ten sleeping pills exactly, and a glass of whiskey. The world was suddenly open to him, and Arthur realised for the first time in his life, he was  _free._ He just never thought freedom would feel quite like this: a little too vast, a little too empty. Carnegie Hall, France, Tokyo – Arthur went wherever, whenever. The world was round. But like the minim, it was a shell with nothing inside.

He practiced his violin with routine and the precision he loved. He no longer cooked, because every time he did, it would remind him – of the sound of laughter, of Merlin teasing. Sometimes, Arthur thought he saw Merlin sitting on the breakfast bench. When he found his truffle jar almost empty, he thought he was going mad.

Arthur was sorting his music scores one afternoon when he accidently found the package, bound with ribbon, of compositions. Compositions he had written for Merlin. He didn't know how long he sat there, staring at the blank envelope, before putting it back on the shelf.

Sometimes, he hated Merlin. But the anger never lasted long. Arthur either drank it away or drilled Bach until his fingers had long indents, red and raw form the press of the strings. He let music consume him, fill him with comfort and let Chopin dull the ache that was always there, but was becoming bearable as time went on.

Five months, twenty weeks, a hundred a forty days, three thousand three hundred and sixty hours.

It was like Merlin had never been here. The only reminder was Merlin Plushie, who sat on Arthur's bedside table because he couldn't bring himself to throw the last link away.  
  
 

:i:  
  
 

Arthur was practicing in his studio – a particularly difficult piece of Paganini – when his cellphone rang. Technically, it vibrated on the glass coffee table because Arthur always had his phone on silent when he was practicing. It proved too distracting otherwise.

Wiping his hands on a cloth, Arthur placed his violin carefully on top of the piano lid and crossed the room to the table. The flashing word on his cellphone read:

**MERLIN**

Arthur stared at the phone in his hands, heart racing. The phone stopped vibrating.

"Dammit!" swore Arthur, flipping the phone open – but before he could redial, Merlin rang again. Without hesitation, Arthur pressed the call button.

"Hello," he said, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible.

But when the person spoke, it wasn't Merlin.

"Is this Pendragon?"

"I'm sorry," said Arthur, feeling dread coil in his stomach, "who is this?"

There was a pause.

"It's Will."

"Will?" Arthur repeated, incredulous. "Why the-"

When Will spoke next, his voice was so anguished the words made Arthur  _sick._

"Merlin needs you."

:i:  
  
 

35 hours later.  
 

_St. Helier's Hospital, Sutton, London._   
  


Arthur had been too fucking terrified to even need sleeping pills. He spent the entire journey completing transactions online and researching everything he could find on cystic fibrosis.

It all made sense.

Will had explained the whole story as Arthur drove to the airport and breaking every single speed limit on the way. Explained that Merlin had collapsed one night and would have suffocated to death had Will not been late coming back from rehearsal and went to check on him. Explained that Merlin was going to die because he couldn't afford surgery – had refused surgery until it was nearly too late.

Every minute that ticked by meant it  _still be too late_.

"I'm here for Merlin Emrys," shouted Arthur, not even bothering to slow down at the reception. "Merlin Emrys – where is-"

"Sir! Sir, you have to register here before-"

"Just tell me where Merlin Emrys is!"

"I'm sorry, sir but you must-"

"Pendragon!"

Arthur turned, and he had never thought the sight of Will – hair dishevelled and looking exhausted – would fill him with such relief.

"Tell these imbeciles-" Arthur began, but Will cut across him, speaking to the nurse.

"He's family," said Will. "Just flew all the way from Australia to see Merlin."

The nurse looked from Will to Arthur then back again, before nodding.

"Very well," she said, and then she didn't have a chance to say anything else because Arthur was striding towards the nearest elevator.

"Did the money-"

"Came through," said Will, rubbing a hand over his face. "Merlin's been out of surgery for a few hours now."

Arthur ran a hand through his hair.

"Thank god," he whispered. " _Thank god_."

The lift came to a stop, chiming as the doors opened. Will led them down a white-washed corridor, the pea green doors numbered in plastic lettering. They stopped outside the third door to the end, and Will paused before opening.

Arthur stepped inside, and Will closed the door behind them.

And there was Merlin – lying pale and still on hospital sheets. His face was covered with an oxygen mask, tubes snaking from his mouth and nose to various machines clustered about his bed. There was the sound of steady beeping – a metronome of a heartbeat. Merlin was thin – thinner than Arthur had ever seen him, even covered by the shapeless hospital gown and blankets. His collarbones threw dark shadows in the hollow of his throat, his face almost gaunt. But the expression was peaceful in sleep, and Arthur just managed to reach a chair before his legs folded beneath him.

"Jesus," he breathed, reaching for Merlin's hand, " _Jesus."_

"The doctor's said he should be alright for now," said Will quietly, "They've patched up the…the hole in his lung. Said it had been getting worse for some time. Merlin- he didn't tell me anything. He just  _didn't say – god, the_ _fucking idiot."_

 _He never told me any of this,_ thought Arthur. He squeezed Merlin's hand in both his own, the hurt, relief and worry mixing into one painful pull in his chest. Something wet dripped onto his pants, and it was a long moment before Arthur realised he was crying. He pressed Merlin's hand to his mouth, kissing the knuckles. He caressed the bird-thin wrist, ran soothing circles on the skin with his thumb.

Some of the emptiness seemed to ease.

It was almost an entire day before Merlin woke. The doctors banished Arthur and Will from Merlin's room for a few hours, but otherwise, Arthur kept a constant vigil at Merlin's bedside. He didn't realise he had fallen into a doze until he was awoken by someone tracing a pattern on his palm.

When he opened his eyes, it was to see Merlin staring back at him from the bed.

Arthur made a gasp of surprise, words temporarily stolen from him. Merlin tried to sit up on the bed, eyes red-rimmed but crinkled at the corners. He was smiling, mouthing words through the mask.

"Hey," said Arthur, abandoning his chair to sit on the edge of Merlin's bed. "Hey."

Clumsily, Merlin reached up and tugged at the oxygen mask.

"No- I don't think you should take it off- " said Arthur, but Merlin batted his hands away with surprising strength for one who had just had lung surgery, and wrenched the mask free.

"Merlin!" Arthur exclaimed as something immediately made a shrill  _beeeeeep_ sound, and Merlin made a horrifying gasp, the sound dry and desperate. Arthur panicked and hit the call button.

It was another three hours before Merlin could talk. He glared at Arthur across the bed, propped up on pillows, the doctors having just left them in peace. Merlin still had respiratory tubes to help him breath, but he could still pronounce "Prat" very clearly.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" Arthur asked – not sure whether he wanted to hear the answer, but at the same time, desperate for an explanation.

Merlin didn't speak, immediately, eyes staring past Arthur's shoulder.

Then, voice hoarse: "The doctor said I had a year."

At this, Arthur's grip on Merlin's hand tightened reflexively. He didn't notice how hard he had been holding Merlin's hand until Merlin winced and Arthur forced his fingers to loosen. He couldn't bring himself to let go, the cold shock curling painfully in his heart. _One year._ He didn't know how he managed to speak.

"Merlin. It's going to be alright-"

Merlin turned his head a fraction, so their eyes locked, his face blank and resigned.

"That was nine months ago."

Time stopped. Arthur stared at Merlin, mind refusing to process the meaning of his words.

" _What?_  But Will said the doctors-"

Merlin laughed – and it triggered another bout of coughing. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his free hand, hissing when the movement pulled on the stitches. Arthur didn't know what to feel.

"Arthur, it's not going to be alright. It's  _not._ That's why-" Merlin broke off, breath hitching, "That's why I didn't tell you. It's  _not going to be alright,_  Arthur."

" _Shut up_ ," he managed to say, before his throat closed up again. It was taking all of his determination not to cry. God, he had done enough crying for a life time.

"You should leave-" Merlin started.

"I said shut up!" snapped Arthur, unable to keep the emotions in check. " _You're not going to die._ "

He pulled Merlin against his chest, clutching at him, one hand cradling his head. Arthur felt sobs bubble up inside him, disbelief and grief, and he couldn't suppress the tears. Merlin's hand came to rest on his back, and Arthur shuddered at the touch, warm even though his shirt. He could feel each of Merlin's fingers, long and thin.

"You're not going to- We'll – transfer you. My father has a surgeon and he –  _you're not going to die, Merlin._ "

"Okay," said Merlin, hand still patting Arthur's back, "Okay, Arthur."

Taking a moment to compose himself, Arthur pulled back. Merlin was smiling faintly, tears running down his cheeks.

"I love you, you know," he said, the words muffled because of the tube. To Arthur, it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. "I've loved you for so long, you have no idea."

And Arthur laughed, unable to help himself, laughed because Merlin was  _here_ and he loved him. Arthur pressed kisses on Merlin's temple, in his hair while listening to Merlin breathe.  
  
 _In, out. In, out._

 

They held each other for a long time.  
 

*  
 

 _Fin._  
  
  
*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> music to be embedded soon - ACTUALLY SOON this time.


End file.
